


Hit Your Prime

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: Ready For The Siege [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Asgard, Asgard culture, Dom/sub, Domme Natasha Romanov, F/F, F/M, Genderbending, Internalized Misogyny, Misogyny, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1885005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha is the Ambassador to Asgard, possibly because she's too well known on Earth and it allows the royal family to freely question her about Loki. That doesn't mean she won't take the job seriously, even if they don't want her to. Meanwhile, Loki adjusts to being at Avengers Tower without her. It's... interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Difficult Adjustments

Clint stopped short when he saw Loki sitting in one of the common areas. She was dressed casually, rather like Natasha would in her downtime. The turquoise shirt was loose fitting, not accentuating the ample curves she had created in her body. The black pants were tighter fitting, but something that would allow her to move quickly if need be. Her feet were bare, tucked up beneath her as she sat at a window seat overlooking Midtown. The expression on her face was pensive, almost fearful, and she pulled at her lip periodically.

If Clint didn't know any better, he would have said that Loki was afraid.

The only thing potentially able to induce fear in Loki was Natasha's current meeting with Fury, Sitwell and Hill as they tried to figure out how to use Natasha's knowledge of Hydra, Yelena Belova and the Eastern European markets to draw them out of hiding.

He vaguely remembered bits of his time possessed by the Tesseract, thoughts made fuzzy with the overshadowing blue of the cube. There were memories of the mercenaries he had found, of Loki looking sickly and afraid, of being left behind. It hadn't been fear of the mercenaries; he had been downright contemptuous of them, as a matter of fact. He also hadn't been afraid of the Chitauri, considering he was supposed to be in charge of them. But there was someone else that communicated with him, someone else that made him look afraid. _Is there someone pulling your strings?_ he had asked. It felt like a lifetime ago now.

"Waiting for something?" Clint asked.

Loki's fingernail gouged deep into her lower lip as she turned to face him. Pulling her fingers away from her mouth left behind red in her mouth and smudged beneath her fingernails. "Was there something you wanted?" she asked, managing to sound arrogant and put out at his arrival.

"You're worried about Natasha, aren't you?"

She was facing the direction of SHIELD offices Midtown, yet still sneered at Clint. That told Clint far more than Loki probably thought it did. He didn't think he was that good at reading people, not like Natasha was.

"Why should I worry?" Loki scoffed. Clint could see her left hand curled, nails digging into her thigh through her pants. "She's merely meeting with her masters, awaiting orders for the next target to lie, cheat or steal. Or perhaps there's a new target to kill or seduce."

No, Clint didn't think Loki would scorn Natasha this way. The words were for his benefit, then, because he would prefer to be hated and feared. Scratch that. _She_ had to be seen as powerful, someone worthy of respect. Loki would rather be feared, if all past behavior could be believed. Clint vaguely remembered that from before as well. He hadn't thought he could be loved by the mortal populace, so he planned to try to rule it with an iron fist, using fear of reprisals and death as his tools. _Fear is powerful,_ he had said once, fingers sliding down the length of his staff, a sickly smile on his face. _There's nothing that people wouldn't do just to make it all go away._

Had he been talking of himself then?

Right wrist casted, Clint opened his soda can with his left and sat on the couch, sprawling across the space as if he owned it. "You're worried about this," Clint said, taking a sip, holding the can with his left hand. It was awkward, but what the hell. "Because they have magic, don't they? I can read between the lines, even if she didn't tell me the details." He shot Loki a rueful smile. "Lower clearance level, after all. I don't get all the details."

Loki curled her lip in a sneer, and it surprisingly looked just like the sneer that had appeared on the male version of her face. It was an uncomfortable realization, one that made his gut twist and generated the impulse to _run_ for his bow, wrist be damned.

"You're injured."

"Yeah, well. It happens. While you were shadowing Tash, we had shit to do here." At her incredulous look, Clint shrugged. "Magic user downtown. Held up a bank near Washington Square Park. Apparently he wanted a safety deposit box that wasn't his."

"And?"

"Messy. Hostages, all that." Clint took a swig of the soda. "Three of us headed down, and Bruce opted to still work with Jane on something. There was some kind of spell, don't ask me what, and he was threatening to burn half the Village if he didn't get what he wanted."

"But he didn't."

"Hell, no," Clint replied proudly, grinning. "He didn't like getting shot at." 

"Is that how you were injured?"

"Nope. He teleported in front of me." Clint actually raised his soda can and inclined his head in Loki's direction. "And, given what we've learned about magic items and users or whatever you call it, I took a direct shot at the gaudy looking stone pinned to the center of his chest."

Loki's eyebrows crawled up toward her hairline. "Not a safe endeavor by any means."

"Nope. Exploded like a M80 on the Fourth of July. Threw me off the roof. Tony had to fly over and catch me when I fell, wrenched my wrist. Compression fracture. It'll take a while to heal up properly, so I'm benched."

Clearly not understanding the metaphor, Loki remained silent. Lips compressed together, she visibly seemed to be thinking. Then she flicked her fingers and pain lanced through his wrist, sharp and burning and awful, nearly making him cry out. Clint could feel the bones and tendons shifting, and the cast fell off of his wrist. "Now you don't have to wait," she said, voice sounding absent and almost lost. Clint didn't even have the breath to thank her, but she turned away from him, toward the window again, clearly dismissing him.

After a moment, her right hand stole up toward her mouth, and she tugged at her lower lip again. It had to be a nervous tic, though Clint really didn't know what she was nervous about. Did she feel that safe here, that she could reveal such tells? Or was she so far gone that she didn't realize she was even doing it? If he had to lay down a bet, he would think it was somewhere in between.

"You know what your problem is, Loki?" he asked in a conversational tone, ignoring the way she stiffened and dug her nails into her lip or thigh. "There's no endgame for you. It's like that mage we took out last week. Power, money, whatever. That stuff's all short term, though. It doesn't give you anything else to work toward. There's no ideal, no reason to keep going."

"Power is enough," Loki said, sounding almost petulant.

Clint laughed. "No, not really. Look at history. Look at the stories people tell. Come on, now. I know you're smarter than that. Whatever dictator is out there, they get power. Then they need more, because they're afraid someone out there is going to take it from them. They don't feel safe, they don't feel wanted, they don't have purpose anymore. Power is _never_ enough. There has to be something more than that."

He abruptly remembered the surveillance footage from the helicarrier. _You won't win. You lack conviction,_ Coulson had told him. And he was right of course. Loki lacked conviction with anything.

Except Natasha. While she might not want to discredit her any longer, she had an unhealthy attachment to Natasha. Clint was absolutely certain that if he ever upset Natasha, Loki would be there with a knife to his throat in retaliation.

Loki curled her fingers into lip, nails digging in deep enough to draw blood again. "Like a ledger," she said when she pulled her fingers away from her lip.

"It's how Natasha phrases it."

She had one now, Clint recalled. Natasha had said a spell was involved, and was deliberately vague at the time. It was likely tied to that deal he didn't want to hear the details about.

"And this Belova," Loki began in a nonchalant tone that didn't fool Clint at all. "Does she have a ledger as well?"

Clint snorted. "I doubt it. Most of those old ghosts have no souls anymore. Tash is a rare one."

"On that we agree, Barton," Loki announced, left hand unclenching from her thigh. "She is a gem indeed. But those masters she chooses to follow cannot see all the facets."

"I doubt you see them either."

"You don't," Loki challenged.

"Of course not. And we're all happier that way, I think," he said, taking another swig of his soda. He smiled at Loki's doubtful expression. "C'mon. You're a woman now. A girl's gotta have some kind of mystery about her, something that's all hers and hers alone. And a woman like Tash is built up out of secrets, with more layers than an onion. You never get to the center of it. You'd go insane if you tried."

"So you don't."

"I'm different. She lets me in. There aren't many she does that with."

Loki paused, contemplating his words. "Why do you tell me this?"

"Because there's got to be something more for you to do all damn day other than fight in the gym, read books and scrolls and pine away at the window like a lost puppy." He rolled his eyes at her indignant look. "Oh, come on. She doesn't even like dogs, you know. Too dependent for her tastes, and she can't stay in one place for too long."

"What is your purpose for being here?" Loki all but snarled.

Ah, there was a nerve there. He would have to confer with Steve and then Natasha later. Clint merely grinned at Loki as if he knew the secret to eternal life. "See, that's the thing, Loki. It's different for everyone. You have to find your own purpose."

Clint wasn't above the petty feeling of satisfaction he felt when Loki growled at him and stalked out of the room in anger. Nope, not above that at all. In fact, it felt pretty damn good, and quieted the sickly feeling he got in his gut whenever he thought about Loki and the Tesseract.

***

Loki hadn't wanted to give up the sessions in Astoria, though she felt almost sick about the thought of having to dominate Natasha in this body. Obviously a woman could do the task, but she didn't feel comfortable doing it. It wasn't something she brought up yet, as she had another two sessions to go until it was her turn. Perhaps she could come up with a good excuse not to do it, or could turn it around so that Natasha could take control over her again. _She called you a good girl, Loki!_ she told herself, breath freezing in her chest. _Because you really weren't a good man, were you? How could you be, when you gloried in her violations? How could you be a man when you work the_ seidr _and take pride in such things? No, this is what you really are. You're a_ girl, _a helpless woman, one to be used and abused however she sees fit, because you don't deserve any better..._

She removed her clothing as Natasha commanded, breath quickening in anticipation. Natasha hadn't discussed her meetings with SHIELD, but had assured her that it had nothing to do with her continued presence on Earth. Loki accepted that, because Natasha would never lie about something to do with her work. She took it far too seriously for Loki's taste, but it mattered to her, so Loki pushed aside her irritation with the organization. Much of the irritation was left over from their interference in her attempt to take over Earth, anyway.

Climbing onto the bed, she rested on all fours, looking at the stitching on the coverlet. She had to clear her mind. Natasha didn't want her to think of anything else but the experience, to succumb to her will. Loki was only too glad to do so, to let her take control and keep her safe.

When Natasha brought the heavy black chain to the bed, she started to shake. "I haven't been bad," she whimpered in spite of herself.

"This isn't a punishment," Natasha said, her voice neutral. The chain rested across the backs of her ankles once Natasha pushed her legs apart to her satisfaction, and then a loop of it over her hands. They weren't entwined tightly, and Loki could probably pull out of them easily. She wouldn't without Natasha's permission, but even the sight of the chains instilled fear. Natasha's hand came to rest at the base of Loki's spine, soothing her slightly. "Just something to make sure you don't move, no matter how hard I move you."

 _Oh._ This time, Loki's gasp was one of anticipation, and she couldn't even be irritated with Natasha's amused chuckle. She turned her head and saw Natasha methodically taking off her clothes and folding them, then taking out the harness and dildo she'd used on Loki in her other form before. "Wh-where will you fuck me?" she asked, tremors in her voice.

Natasha smiled, an almost devilish grin that made Loki catch her breath. "Wherever I want."

It was the right answer, of course, the only answer she would ever give, and Loki's eyes were glazed over in lust as she watched Natasha step into the harness. Yes, oh yes, she wanted this, she wanted this so much, Natasha knew exactly how much. Loki could feel herself tighten around nothing, a heaviness in her groin from the wanting. Natasha would fuck her properly, leave her boneless and limp and empty of fear and pain. Natasha would fix everything.

Her fingers were right where Loki wanted them, right up against her clit and in her quim, filling her. Natasha's other hand cupped a breast, kneading the sensitive flesh. Loki could feel the dildo resting gently against her leg, a constant reminder of what Natasha wanted to do. "You're so pretty, opening up in front of me," Natasha purred. "I'm going to fuck you, and you're going to scream for me. No one will hear you because of your silencing spells, so you can scream as loud as you want, Loki."

"Please, Natasha," Loki gasped, pushing herself backward onto Natasha's fingers. Her own pulled at the coverlet, but she wouldn't yank her hands out from under the chain. She could see its dark material against her pale skin, feel the heavy weight of it. But she wasn't trapped, there was nothing to fear here. Natasha wasn't going to hurt her. Natasha was going to keep her safe, and she would be _free._

Loki screamed as the first orgasm ripped through her, her back arching and her eyes closing in ecstasy. She could hear Natasha crooning behind her, fingers curling into all those sensitive, soft places inside her wet cleft, and then she cried out again when Natasha pinched her nipple. She could feel Natasha's hair against her back, and then there was the press of Natasha's breasts into her side and her lips against her spine. She didn't slow or relent in any way, and Loki mewled in desperation at the flood of sensation. This was Natasha fucking her with her fingers, using long sure strokes, tips curling and pressing into that spot that made her see stars. Natasha knew her body inside and out, and just the right amount of pressure on her nipple to add to the sensation without tripping over into dreadful pain.

Before the second orgasm was even complete, Natasha withdrew her slick fingers and rubbed them against the puckered opening of her ass. Loki whimpered when Natasha gave one sharp pinch on her nipple, but she used that hand to guide the dildo into her aching quim. "Please," Loki found herself begging, the first thrust of it making her cry out in pleasure. "Yes, there, please, more, more, I need more of this, please don't stop, Natasha, please don't stop, please don't leave me," she begged as Natasha fucked her thoroughly. She wasn't even aware of what she was saying, nearly sobbing. Her entire world was narrowed down to the sensation of Natasha's cock inside her, her hand cradling her hip, fingertips brushing against the curling black hair, and Natasha's other hand rubbing at her ass. Loki didn't care what she had to do or say as long as the sensation never ended. Dropping to her elbows meant her breasts dragged against the coverlet with every thrust, rubbing the sensitive nubs.

The slide of one slim finger into her ass was an intrusion, but Loki didn't mind it. She still pushed her hips back to help impale herself on Natasha's cock, still cried out with every thrust deep into her core. It was hard to breathe, but that didn't even matter. Natasha was giving her what she needed, what she wanted, and she was coming again, wailing and arching her back like a cat as her entire body shook. She didn't protest when Natasha slipped the cock out of her, then carefully pushed its length into her ass. She still begged to be fucked, to be owned and possessed, to be given what she deserved. "Please don't stop, please, please, please don't stop, don't stop, please," Loki begged, eyes closed and hands pulling at the coverlet. It was intense, wonderful and everything she hadn't deserved before. Natasha burned her fears away, took away the worst of her sins and left her clean.

Natasha curled one hand around her hip and found her clit, leaning forward to get the right angle for pressing into it. Loki's gasps became outright cries of pleasure, and she didn't care if she sounded like a wanton harlot in heat. "More, more, I need more," Loki cried, breasts rubbing into the coverlet. It added to the fires burning inside of her, and she clenched down hard on the cock in her ass and on empty air in her quim. Natasha didn't seem to tire, and Loki _wailed_ as she neared another orgasm, every nerve ending on fire.

She collapsed into a boneless mass when Natasha withdrew after her release, gasping for air she couldn't seem to find. Loki felt an ache between her legs, a pleasant sense of fullness, a reminder of Natasha's ownership. She didn't even move as Natasha left the harness and used dildo on the floor to clean later, preferring instead to remove the chains, climb on top of the bed and spread her legs. Her eyes opened when Natasha took a fistful of her hair in hand to lift up her face. "Now you fuck me with your mouth," Natasha commanded, "and you better please me. Otherwise, I won't reward you so well before you exert any effort."

Loki gladly moved to press her mouth to Natasha's bare folds. She was wet, the musk of her arousal making Loki's mouth water. She licked and nipped at everything before settling in to suck Natasha's clit in earnest. Natasha hadn't said to use only her mouth, so Loki slid two fingers inside of her and moved them slowly as she sucked and licked. Her leg was thrown over Loki's back, and one hand slid to caress her skull, holding her in place. Oh yes, she was pleasing her mistress, Natasha was pleased with her, she belonged.

She continued to lick and suck her flesh as if a starving woman devouring a feast, savoring the taste of Natasha's arousal. It didn't matter if she pulled on Loki's hair too hard when she came, when the heel of her foot was too uncomfortable against her back. Natasha was claiming ownership over her, was keeping her in her place, was giving commands she had to obey. Loki hummed happily as she licked into Natasha, wanting to do this forever despite the ache growing in her jaws.

"Enough," Natasha gasped after her third orgasm. Finally oversensitive, she pulled Loki from her flesh and pushed her onto her back. Loki looked up at Natasha in helpless rapture, her lips wet and shining from Natasha's juices. "You've done well, Loki."

And then Natasha was kissing her, tongue sliding into her mouth and touching hers, hands holding her wrists down on either side of her head. Natasha was hovering over her body, breasts pressed against hers and legs pinning hers down. Loki was completely at Natasha's mercy, and the thought made her slick and wet all over again. Natasha filled her senses, occupied her thoughts and gave her rapturous pleasure.

Natasha covered Loki's cheeks with soft kisses, making her grin up at her mistress. "You're not crashing," Natasha observed, still keeping Loki's body pinned beneath hers.

"Can you fuck me again?" Loki pleaded, tilting her hips up toward Natasha's. "I ache so much."

Licking Loki's lips gently, Natasha gave her a seductive smile. "I can think of something."

It was a rabbit vibrator in her quim and a slender one in her ass, their rhythms inside her not coordinating. Loki's mouth was pressed to Natasha's breast, and she gratefully kept hold of Natasha's torso while suckling at her breast. Her legs were splayed wide as the vibrators went to work inside her, hips bucking intermittently when the pleasure grew too intense. The vibrators didn't care about her pleas to speed up or slow down, and Natasha pinched her nipples almost cruelly as she came, screaming. "Yes, fuck, harder, please," Loki begged, legs moving restlessly over the coverlet. "Make them fuck me harder, Natasha," she begged, arching her back so Natasha could pinch and stroke her breasts.

The rabbit was at its maximum speed, but the slim one in her ass was at the lowest setting. Loki screamed in pleasure when Natasha turned the dial to maximum, her entire body shaking. She cried out again when Natasha slapped her breasts, the sting feeling exquisitely beautiful. It didn't even matter when Natasha closed a hand around her throat, or even when she replaced her hand with a length of chain. She had her eyes closed, the toys buried within her spreading pleasure like fire along her nerves. Her mouth was parched from all her cries and gasps, and she didn't resist Natasha pulling her arms over her head and pinning them down with the chain. She didn't resist when her legs were pinned down the same way. Loki was only too pleased to have Natasha's slippery quim over her mouth again, the taste driving her wild. She was pinned down by the heavy metal chains, her body assaulted by pleasure from the toys and her mouth was being used to give Natasha pleasure.

Yes, this was what she wanted, to be reduced to nothing, to be given a single purpose she could carry out. And then there was the pleasure-pain of Natasha pinching her nipples again, sharp and warm, sending Loki over the edge into a massive orgasm that nearly made her pass out.

But still Natasha didn't release her, didn't turn off the toys. Loki whimpered and bucked her hips ineffectually, curling her tongue deep into Natasha's core. It was quickly growing to be too much, completely overwhelming her. Even so, Natasha didn't stop, didn't move, didn't turn anything off. Loki screamed helplessly when the waves of pleasure crested into an orgasm again, when her body was so oversensitive to the vibrations that it was almost painful.

It wasn't until Loki pulled her mouth away from Natasha and turned her face to beg for it to be over that Natasha moved. First, she shifted off of Loki's face, then she stopped slapping or pinching her breasts. Then slowly, slowly, the dials were turned down and finally off. Loki felt bereft when they were removed from her body, but it was a delicious emptiness.

 _"Now_ you're sated," Natasha observed with a laugh.

"I will happily lie here until the roots of the World Tree become trees in their own right."

Natasha laughed, a sound that warmed Loki's soul. She was amused, pleased with her, pleased by her, wanting to keep her. Loki smiled and remained sprawled on the bed as Natasha cleaned the toys in the bathroom. She curled around Natasha when she returned, feeling loose-limbed and utterly whole. "This is perfection," Loki murmured, falling asleep with her head pillowed on Natasha's breasts. Natasha said something in reply that she didn't pay attention to.

What else did she need but this?

***

Loki sat in the common room, a large runic text from one of her hideaways in her lap. Natasha had insisted on going with her, ostensibly to help her carry belongings to the suite she was given in Avengers Tower. She was sure that Natasha hadn't trusted her alone in the hideaway, though Loki wasn't sure what Natasha actually mistrusted. Was it her? Was it the structure's stability? Or did she think that Loki had other enemies capable of tracking her along Yggdrasil? That thought made her feel better, though she was too afraid to ask her what it truly was. Loki caught Natasha about the waist before they returned to Midgard, and spun her around, mouth fused to hers. Loki pushed her up against the wall of her hideaway, one leg caught between Natasha's. She wanted to take Natasha right there against the wall, and slid one hand inside Natasha's jeans while keeping the other curled around the back of her neck.

"Someone's a little eager," Natasha had teased, smiling against her mouth.

Laughing, Loki moved to nuzzle her neck. "We should appreciate the privacy while we have it."

As this wasn't taking place in Astoria, Loki's magic was not forbidden. Loki grasped Natasha's bare hip and the nape of her neck, and used her magic to craft the impression of a cock sliding into her. Natasha moaned a little into her mouth, and Loki decided to cast the same spell on herself. Oh, the sensation was sweet indeed, and the two women rocked against each other as Loki's spell worked its magic. Loki tasted the sweetness of her mouth and could feel her soft skin, as well as the fabric rubbing against her taut nipples and throbbing clit. She set the magic to fuck them faster, making Natasha's hands tighten on her ass. She came first, moaning into Loki's mouth, tilting her hips and clamping her thighs tight around Loki's. Loki continued the spell even after she came as well, making Natasha gasp and cling to her.

"Loki," she gasped into her mouth, moving one hand to the back of Loki's neck. "God, that feels so good." Hooking one leg up around Loki's waist, Natasha seized her mouth and thrust her tongue into Loki's mouth.

The pleasure mounted for Loki until she came again, clutching Natasha tightly for dear life. Loki let the spell fade out on her own body, but continued it for Natasha until she tightened and cried out again. Once that spell was gone, Natasha sagged a little in Loki's arms. "Surprise me like that more often, huh?" she asked Loki, laughing a little.

"Certainly," Loki replied, kissing her tenderly. She was tempted to call Natasha her love, but that wouldn't be received well. Natasha didn't believe in such things.

At the moment, as Loki tried to read her manuscript, Natasha was seated in front of the coffee table, file folders spread out in front of her. She had a faint frown of concentration on her face, and was completely immersed in what she was reading. It was an odd sensation to be seeing her that way, that she trusted Loki that much to be so unguarded.

Natasha would never have felt that way about the old Loki, she was sure.

"I feel almost like I should have brought something in to study, too," Steve joked as he entered the room with his sketchbook in hand. Natasha looked up with a smile, and Loki merely placed her hand in the book and gave up trying to read.

"I'm just going over some of the files that SHIELD has regarding certain individuals. It's not very much," she admitted. "But I'm probably not going to have much time to update them."

"Going somewhere?" Steve asked, sitting down on the couch. Loki hated his easy demeanor with Natasha, that they were such good friends she could remain in her easy, relaxed pose. Loki had worked hard to earn that, yet Steve seemed to have received her trust so effortlessly.

"Ambassador work. Not sure exactly when it starts."

Loki managed not to startle, as Natasha had said she wanted Loki settled before she left. She simply hadn't realized it would be that soon.

"I'm sure you'll be good at it," Steve said, opening his sketchbook. "If you can be anyone and anything on this world, you can make it work there."

Something shriveled inside of Loki's chest at the thought of Natasha leaving. Loki would have to stay behind, of course, and she would be alone. She would be in this tower, without her beloved, surrounded by those who thought ill of her, if not outright despised her. How would she be able to withstand the loss?

"And you'll have Loki to help you out, of course," Steve said, nodding in Loki's direction, his pencil in hand.

Natasha shook his head as Loki froze. "No, she'll have to stay here."

"Why? Wouldn't she be part of your Ambassador package?"

"I'm barred from Asgard on pain of death," Loki answered tightly when Natasha didn't answer right away. "I am a vile fugitive, after all, cast out and never to return."

Oh, dear. Her voice was so bitter, bitter.

Steve was staring at her, and Natasha merely closed the folders she was reading through. "I didn't know that," he said after a moment. "I know you got sent back three years ago, but I didn't think you'd be exiled."

"Did you think they would welcome me into their bosom? Did you think they would wish to claim me as kin, allow me to walk their hallowed halls and drink their wine and sit at their tables to feast with them?" Loki's hand on her book tightened into a fist. She saw Natasha neatly stack up her folders and Steve clench his hand around his pencil. "I am not Aesir, as they saw fit to remind me. A prize to be kept until needed to be used, a living trophy of a war long past. There is no place for me in Asgard, no purpose to my existence there."

Her breathing was shallow, her heartbeat too loud. By the Roots, had she actually said all of that out loud? Had her bitterness been so easily evident?

If Steve's discomfited expression was any guide, yes, she had.

"How many have you killed, Loki?" Steve asked quietly. "Here and there? How many?"

"Do you count war, Captain Rogers?" she asked, voice slick with pain and jeering intent.

"How many?"

"Millions," Loki replied with a sneer. "I am a god. Stakes are higher."

"And they count those millions against you, don't they?"

There was no inflection in his voice, nothing to tell her how he truly felt. Loki was sure there was scorn beneath his voice, and she could feel herself nearly shaking. "Haven't I already told you?" she hissed. _"I am not welcome."_

"Wait," Steve said with a frown. He likely meant it to be conciliatory, but it further inflamed her rage and bitterness. "I don't understand. If you aren't allowed back... Is that the punishment that they gave you three years ago?"

"No," Loki snarled, snapping her book shut. "I was for the executioner when I escaped. Pleased?" she asked, shooting to her feet. This was one of her jailers in Natasha's absence, she realized. He could chain her, and she would have to submit, because Natasha would want her to, and Loki wanted to please Natasha. Loki had to get out, but she knew Natasha didn't want her alone in her hideaways. She had gathered too many enemies, most of whom could find her if she hid on Yggdrasil.

So she was trapped here, among people who would gladly harm her for the things she had done before. She wasn't sure why Natasha wasn't willing to kill her now. Perhaps someday she would; she had certainly promised to do so often enough.

Chest heaving as if she had exerted herself mightily, Loki stifled a scream of frustration and left the room.

Oh, she was a fool, such a ridiculous fool that kept making the same damn mistakes over and over again. Someone would kill her soon enough, and she would surely deserve it, but she didn't want to die. She was a tangle, caught in an even bigger one, and she would lose everything if she hadn't already.

The suite given to her was largely empty, much like the apartment in Astoria had been, and her screams echoed painfully in the room. What did she have now? What was even hers? She had lost her royal station, lost her faith, lost her purpose. Who was she anymore? An object of pity? A warning to future enemies of SHIELD or the Avengers?

Loki turned when Natasha entered her suite. She was dimly aware of the tears on her face, the heave in her chest as she tried to breathe. She truly was an object of pity, was she not? A loose end that Natasha refused to tie off properly.

Natasha came closer, door closing and locking behind her. "Are you going to be all right?" Her tone was careful, controlled, as if she was a live bomb about to explode.

"I don't know," Loki told her miserably. "There's no purpose, no desire to continue on. What would you have me do? I have nothing in your absence, nothing."

She approached Loki with quick, sure steps, then grasped her shoulder and pulled her down for a kiss. Loki returned it with all the desperation she felt, the hopelessness and uselessness evident. She wrapped her arms around Natasha, falling into her, tears falling. "You're going to leave me," she sobbed, not caring if she revealed too much. She hurt too much to care, but later she would castigate herself as a fool. "You'll leave, and there's nothing left for me."

"I can't bring you with me," Natasha reminded her as they fell to the floor, crashing down to their knees. "You'll die if you go to Asgard."

"But what am I here?" Loki sobbed, burying her face in the crook of Natasha's neck. "I'm no longer a job for you to perform at the behest of your superiors. I'm not here on Midgard trying to rule it, so you're not trying to stop me from action. You have no opportunity for work here on Midgard, so I can't protect you. I have no place now, Natasha. I have no purpose. There is nothing for me to do, and I have _nothing."_

Natasha pulled Loki into a better position to look her in the eye. "You have your life and your magic. You have a stay of execution."

"It means nothing, you know this," Loki sobbed.

She caught Loki's face in her hands, but it couldn't contain the firestorm of despair that Loki felt. Natasha tried to hold onto her, tried to be her anchor, but Loki was sinking anyway. "I'm not leaving yet," Natasha began.

"But you will," Loki interrupted. "You _will_ leave, and there is nothing for me here. Uselessness, hatred, subject to their whim. What am I to you, Natasha? I am no job, no one to seduce for your superiors. What am I to you?"

"You're mine," Natasha told her, voice steely. It calmed her somewhat, but it was a vague enough answer that it couldn't quiet the storm of emotion. Loki was shamed by her hiccupping sobs and tears. "There's no name for it, Loki, nothing that wouldn't cheapen what we have. You are mine," she repeated, enunciating carefully. _"Mine."_

"The others—"

"Are not what you fear they are."

"They could be, when your back is turned. They _could be._ I am weak now, female, vulnerable. Fighting back won't save me if they're determined."

Something shifted in Natasha's eyes. "Do you think I'm weak because I'm female?"

"I'm not you!" Loki wailed. "I can't be you, I can't do this. I'm not whole, I never have been."

"You changed only your physical shape—"

 _"No._ I wasn't the warrior they wanted in the palace. My affinity with magic was too off putting. I had no place unless they needed wit or _seidr,_ the rest of the time I was cast in shadow. I had no place, and trying to prove my worth cast me out."

"You killed, Loki. Millions. Is that something a ruler does?" Natasha challenged.

"Yes. Odin did that, I finished the task he could not. Yet I'm denounced the monster, I'm labeled the source of evil, called a scourge upon the realm. I only wanted to be equal, but I could never be that, never."

"Because you don't know when to quit." Loki tried to wrench herself away from Natasha's pitiless voice, but she held fast. "No, you _will_ listen to me, Loki. This is what you came to me for. This is what you wanted. Because they never saw you, didn't value what you valued. You know that I do, and you also know I won't take your bullshit. I won't allow you to get too far, and even if I'm not here I won't allow it. I will not accept this behavior, Loki," she said sternly, and Loki flinched.

"But I can't—"

Natasha slapped her, jaw clenched in annoyance. Loki caught herself before she fell, but she turned wounded eyes to Natasha. "That's bullshit, Loki. Self-serving, self-pitying bullshit. _I do not accept it."_

"But I'm not you!" Loki cried.

"Hand to hand, blades and manipulation. We both have those skills." Her voice was hard, pitiless. "You have magic, Loki. You're longer lived. Now shut the fuck up with the self pity."

Loki's lips trembled as she tried to follow the direction, but she wanted to dissolve into tears. Her male form would cover up his pain with anger and rage. Her female form still had her rage, but she wanted to scream and cry, too. She couldn't hurt Natasha anymore. She wasn't insignificant, wasn't only worthy of disdain. Natasha was more than human, not a goddess, and better than Loki could ever be. The realization was painful, tearing at her soul. Loki had hoped to escape this maelstrom, but couldn't.

"You're stronger than I am," Loki whispered brokenly.

"Because before, you never had to be," Natasha told her, not unkindly. "But now you do. There's no option to fail anymore, Loki. Now you _have_ to do it."

"Why?" she asked, voice cracking.

"Because I want you to," Natasha said, voice softening. "I need you to."

Tears still falling, Loki nodded and leaned into her, needing the support. She didn't think she would ever be worthy of it, but perhaps she could learn to fake it well enough that Natasha would never regret being with her.

***  
***


	2. Two Feet Forward

As Loki had feared, Natasha was soon called to act on her Ambassadorship. She went to the terrace of the tower with the others to see her off, then retreated to her suite so she wouldn't have to deal with them. Natasha had assured her that there was nothing to fear, but Loki couldn't shake the feeling that she would have to pay in spades for what she had put them through. There was no reason for them to tolerate her with Natasha gone.

Loki wandered the halls that were allowed as well as those that were not. Somehow she managed to find Bruce Banner's lab, and she walked right in as if she belonged there; there was the pull of magic, something she couldn't help but be drawn to. He was startled to see her, that was clear. She wasn't sure if it was because he didn't know who she was or if it was because she wasn't supposed to have found the lab.

The ring was in some kind of vise, analysis in progress of its radioactive spectrum.

Bruce stepped in the way of her progress toward it. "That's not a very good idea, you know," he said in his deceptively mild manner. "It'll warp you again."

So indeed, he knew that Loki was female now. Were there truly no secrets to be had among these fellows? A woman could have secrets? Ha. Clint obviously had no idea what he was talking about when it came to secrets.

"I'm different now," Loki purred, sidestepping Bruce with a smile. "Is it not obvious?"

"Yeah, well, change the outside wrapping, it doesn't mean the inside's any different."

Loki scowled, her gut twisting. No, that wasn't true. That wasn't right. She was different now. She was _different,_ that was the point of this. She wasn't the same. Should she have chosen a different name? "I am Loki Friggasdottir," she said, the name rolling off of her tongue before she could stop herself. It felt right, it felt true. This was her identity now, this was who she was and who the others should see. "I am different from what you have seen before."

The smile Bruce offered her was at once disbelieving, self-deprecating and wary. "No, I don't think you are."

"There is a universe within the amulet," Loki said, her voice a soft caress. "Have you studied its energies yet? Have you drawn parallels between it and the universe you live in? Have you seen the shadows within its facets?" Her lips curled into a scornful smile, and with a graceful hand motion, she tucked her loose, wavy hair behind one ear. "Shatter its contents, and the explosion will cause the destruction of the Eastern seaboard."

Bruce was very still for a moment. "And why are you telling me this?"

"I'm sure there are ways to take apart the amulet while slowly releasing its contents. It's a trap, an absorptive well that was meant to take in and channel power." Loki walked between the tables in the lab, fingers brushing along the tops. She was careful not to stray too close to the ring in the vise, or too close to the amulet still locked within a lead-lined safe. She was making a point right now, that she wasn't the same Loki that Bruce had dealt with before. She was something new, something that had to be reexamined and new assumptions made about.

A new balance, a new ledger. The old Loki was gone, gone, gone.

"So you want to take apart an object of power you tried to steal for yourself?"

"It wasn't for me," Loki said with a frown. Was that what they believed? Perhaps Natasha truly hadn't spoken of their deals and plots and plans, and had cleverly hidden her thoughts behind screens, secrets tucked away deep inside of her. If only Loki could learn that trick.

Bruce seemed thoughtful, and his eyes flicked to his readings. "Hm... If not you, then who?"

"It doesn't matter now," Loki said absently, turning in a different direction, away from the amulet. Bruce didn't seem so on edge as she did so, as if a simple direction change could really signify that her interest in it was gone. "But it wasn't meant for me." She turned around. "Taking it apart would be safest."

"How would that even work?"

Loki paused, wondering how he would phrase it. The science agents working with Coulson had appreciated his efforts to explain, but Ward hadn't. Bruce struck him as the type that enjoyed gathering information and speaking with like-minded souls. "To create such an object needs many spells cast in a series, each dependent on the one prior. On the surface, each spell on its own does very little. But the sum of the whole is of paramount importance, achieving the final result. Even small variances in each of the spells can result in disastrous final results."

"So if you started taking it apart, one layer of spells at a time while I ran the scans to see what you were doing, I might better understand the differences in harmonics." Bruce actually looked excited, making Loki blink in surprise. "Magic actually produces a radiation field. Some of it in the gamma range, some of it seems to be a different frequency. Tracking that might let me figure out where the bridge research should go."

While some of the wording didn't make any sense to her at all, it sounded as though he would be willing to let her hold the amulet. Loki could almost feel the surge of power through her, could almost taste it. She hadn't even held it before, and had only possessed the tenth of Amora's rings briefly. It didn't matter that Bruce watched her carefully, that he had his machines and sensors trained upon the amulet and Loki's form. She closed her eyes and breathed in its power, feeling the edges of the spells layered over it. Bruce stayed respectfully silent, eyes alert for any hint of betrayal. He wouldn't know it if she siphoned off some of the power from the amulet as she unraveled the spells; it was strenuous mental work to do this, so who would truly fault her to fuel her energies to do further spell work? She started off with just a little at first, but unwinding the spells took more and more out of her.

Loki felt the spells that created the hollow inside the Essine Ruby, the universe contained within it pulsing with life. She lifted her eyes to look at Bruce. "There's a world here, lives inside it. I'm not sure a simple unraveling will preserve it or destroy it."

"Could you save it somehow?" Bruce asked. Of course he would worry. The man outside the beast was capable of reason, hope and compassion. Clint had known that much about him.

"I can but try," Loki murmured. She knew little of Manhattan's geography, but doubted that innumerable lives and entire worlds would be welcomed. But the penthouse, the two tiered and open terraced area that Tony Stark touched down on, could be applicable. "I have the place."

She felt herself sway a bit as she opened up her mind to the unraveling, creating a mirror opening on the terrace above them. The sway increased in frequency, like a pendulum, the unraveling increasing as the swaying did. Distantly, Loki could feel the press of Bruce's worry but ignored it, focusing on the rhythms of the spell. She heard the low hum of her own voice, a smooth alto and pleasant to listen to, a song in resonance with the center of the Essine Ruby.

When the universe expanded, funneled through the spells and the portal floors above, Loki dimly heard Bruce cry out in alarm. Her song ended on a sharp, shrill note, her voice breaking.

The spell shattered, and Loki fell to the floor. She spasmed, legs twitching and her head thrashing as the power of that layer of spells was unleashed. A good bit of it flooded into Loki's body, slamming her with wave after wave of interminable power, drowning her within the deluge. _Don't forget to breathe when you work the_ seidr, _Loki,_ Frigga used to tell her when she was a little boy. _Work with your breath, not against it. Feel the flow of it, move with it. Follow the tide and it will pull you through._

Lungs screaming for air, Loki sucked in a desperate breath and let it out as a scream. She wanted to call out for Natasha, wanted her to save the day, save her, make it all stop.

It was a tide, the pull and push of the ocean, the thrum of life and breath and death all around them, the ripple of powerful magicks unraveling. Practitioners all over the world would feel it, would wonder at the import.

And there was breath. And life. And the call of a mage floors above.

"When was the last time you've eaten something?" Bruce asked, his concern breaking through the onrushing tides of magic.

Loki couldn't help but laugh. Silly question. What was the importance in the face of the power flooding through her limbs?

"C'mon," Bruce said with a sigh, hauling Loki to her feet. "JARVIS, start running my analysis algorhythms on what happened in here. Make sure no one else but me gets into this lab."

"Understood, Dr. Banner," came a disembodied voice.

Staggering next to Bruce, Loki started laughing. Her voice sounded high and reedy, thready, not at all like her own. Was the magic changing her again? She didn't want to be the Loki they remembered from the Battle of Manhattan. She didn't want to be the sickly, pale, weakened thing, tossed about like a rag doll through the ether of space and time. No, that couldn't be her anymore, it wasn't who she was anymore. Natasha cradled this body and meant it, wanted her, was gentle with her. She was cruel to the other Loki because he wanted and craved it, needed it as the punishment he so richly deserved. But she wasn't him. She wasn't like that, she didn't need to be punished so harshly. She wasn't him. _She wasn't him._

Somehow he got soup down her throat, and the swimming delirium cleared from her mind. The power of the Essine Ruby remained within her, bound and contained, becoming part of her. It was but a fraction of what was in the artifact, some of it lost to the portal and destabilizing the universe it had contained. But the fraction that she had caught was still immense, still thrumming beneath her skin and making her ache for Natasha's touch.

"What was that?"

"Backlash of the unraveling. I pushed too fast, is all," Loki lied with a smile. "I grew too confident in my work, too bold. It requires a more gentle hand than I had used thus far, but I'll learn and complete the unraveling."

"Not today," Bruce said decisively. Loki decided not to push her luck. "You look like you almost died in there."

"Not today," Loki agreed with a nod. There was plenty of time to complete the task, especially if Bruce thought her helpful and an ally.

Perhaps she was building a good life for herself here after all.

***

Natasha staggered as she arrived in the Observatory, but didn't fall or drop the duffel bag that carried a number of belongings with her. Included were some of her additional personal weapons and the twin swords that Loki had given her, so that they could be properly repaired. She hoped that the bag wouldn't be seen as a means to performing an assassination attempt. As she straightened, Heimdall cast his golden eyes upon her, giving her a nod of recognition and approval. "Welcome to Asgard, Ambassador Romanoff."

"Thank you, Heimdall," she returned, glad her voice didn't waver in the slightest.

"You are expected at the palace," he told her helpfully. "An honor guard is waiting just outside these doors to escort you there."

Her features were schooled impassive despite the unease she felt. At least she was in her nanomesh armor, her Widow's Bites fully charged, the garrote and grappling hook in place. She had her knives, twin Glocks and extra ammo fastened securely to her body. Tony had quipped that she was overly suspicious and overarmed, but Clint and Steve had remained silent, knowing her well enough by now. She was going alone to Asgard, after all, and would serve as her own security detail. There was no such thing as overarmed in that situation.

She said nothing as they all walked across the rainbow bridge, alert to everything. Her presence here was welcomed, but political in nature. Politics, no matter what realm, made this a venture worthy of caution. She represented all of Earth now, and had to protect its interests as well as her own. Asgard was supposed to be friendly, but that didn't always mean it would be for the longer term. Natasha didn't think Odin or Frigga would feel as though they owed her anything. Maybe Frigga, but if she was willing to emotionally manipulate Natasha to get what she wanted rather than simply ask, Natasha couldn't automatically trust her, either. She was on her own as usual.

Feted as an honored guest at dinner, Natasha was constantly surrounded by the Asgardian nobility and royalty. She could tell that most looked at her garb with disdain, and subtly tried to belittle her. Unamused, she stared at the nobles until they seemed discomfited. "Is this how you define noble behavior?" she asked one coolly.

"Your dress and demeanor is unseemly," one man sniffed.

"You think I'm less because I'm a woman?" she asked, voice soft. If Clint was there, he would have known to back off immediately.

"A woman's place is silent," he sneered.

"Would you say as much to the Queen?"

All pretense at conversation around them abruptly died. Natasha fixed him with a steely stare, until he looked away in shame. She then turned to the others seated around him, not amused in the slightest. "And the rest of you?" she asked in cool tones. "Do you feel the same as that one?"

"You don't know our ways," one said in what was meant to be a conciliatory tone.

"And you don't know mine," she returned. "Your king requested me specifically, due to my expertise. If you have complaints about his choice, by all means, talk with the King."

Odin sat at the head of the table, a serene smile on his face. Natasha could understand how Loki could feel belittled in this atmosphere, as if his talent meant nothing. She was used to being second guessed and looked down upon just because of her gender. This was a very misogynistic culture, and she had known she wouldn't be welcomed by anyone outside of the royal family, Sif, and the Warriors Three. She knew what she was up against, but Loki was unprepared for such behavior, and had buckled beneath the pressure.

The noble looked from her impassive expression to that of Odin's. "No, Your Majesty." He inclined his head. "Your wisdom is well respected."

Nodding, Odin turned to Natasha. "You are very capable of getting to the heart of the matter, Ambassador." There was approval in his tone, which would quiet further talk at the table. It would do nothing elsewhere, she knew. The nobility would simply sheathe their knives in public and save it for the times they caught her alone.

"As well as that of my enemies," she replied smoothly. This was a warrior culture, after all. No need to hide the harder aspects of her personality here.

"What enemies would that be in Midgard?" one asked, curious.

"Asgard is a single nation under one ruler. Midgard has over a hundred separate countries, some at war with each other, and other factions jockeying for power." She gave him a chill smile. "Most don't look too kindly on destabilizing forces in our world."

Some of the nobles looked interested. "Such a state of conflict and war, then," one said. "The glory to be had..."

"It's home," Natasha replied simply.

"You are far too modest," Odin announced. "I was informed that your fight against the Chitauri was exemplary."

"It needed to be done. Losses amongst the people were kept to a minimum, but there was still incredible damage done."

"I've also heard of your battles against warlocks and evil knights of your realm," Odin said.

So _now_ he wanted to boast of her prowess? Apparently she had needed to prove herself to him first. Two could play at that game, then.

"I also killed Skrall the Executioner and Amora the Enchantress," she declared matter-of-factly. There was no need to go into detail. "It wasn't very hard to do."

Silence greeted that statement. "So you are a warrior like the Lady Sif," one noble said. There was faint disapproval in his tone.

"Considering Amora planned to burn Asgard to the ground," she began icily, "you should be thankful that I am."

"You can hardly say such a thing without giving the entire tale," a noble sitting next to Frigga said in an unctuous tone. Natasha distrusted him immediately.

Asgardians valued long bardic tales, she knew, and that wasn't her forte. Still, she knew how to fake it by now, especially given the tries to read the Norse eddas to understand Loki. This wasn't wholly new information, just a new way of using it.

Acting as if she was modest, Natasha dipped her head in acknowledgement. She left out the sense of magic she had developed along with her healing ability, and didn't mention the other Avengers heavily in the opening of her story. They wanted the bloody bits with Skrall and Amora, so she focused on the details of those fights. She could tell that Frigga recognized the description of Loki's twin swords, though the queen kept silent during her recitation. The nobles looked duly impressed by her tale, and nodded in approval when she told of killing Amora. Natasha left out Loki's rescue and why they tracked down Amora in the first place. It was enough that Natasha had already said she wanted to burn Asgard to the ground.

Odin lifted his goblet and Frigga did the same when she finished the tale. "And this is why the Lady Natasha is Ambassador. She is a true friend to Asgard, a Preserver of the Realm and a compatriot to Thor, still working to bring peace to Vanaheim."

Finally getting the very public approval from Odin likely meant that Natasha passed a test of some kind. Probably it was her editing out of Loki's involvement and minimizing possible embarrassment to the crown. True friend to Asgard, indeed.

"I see you are a modest warrior, a trait becoming to an Ambassador," the noble next to Frigga said. A few other male nobles nodded, and their wives remained silent.

"As you can see, I am qualified to work on behalf of my world, and can work with yours."

"Few women of Asgard could do such a thing," said the first noble that had spoken to her.

Natasha gave him a mirthless smile. "Simply give them the opportunity, and I'm sure you'd be very surprised."

One of the noble ladies was visibly amused and approving of her statement. Natasha made a mental note to seek her out and befriend her. She would need allies in court; posturing and a vague sense of menace was all well and good in the beginning, but it wouldn't help in a long game. This dinner was simply her opening move. If she played it right, these nobles would eventually forget about her prowess and treat her like any other pretty face. Men were usually stupid and full of themselves that way, and easier to manipulate.

After the dinner was concluded, Frigga approached her with a smile. "So good to see you again," she said warmly.

Mirroring her smile, Natasha decided to follow her lead for now. "Perhaps we'll have more of a chance to talk now."

"Oh?" Frigga asked, her head tilting in query.

"You could have simply asked me to look after him," she said quietly. She didn't imagine that the royal couple wanted her as Ambassador because of her ability to fight or gather information from others, but a way to get information about Loki without it seeming suspicious.

Frigga's smile remained in place, as if Natasha said something amusing. "But my dear, you could have said no to that request. If you thought me squeamish, you would more likely take care of him and make sure he came to no harm."

"If that's how you treat allies and friends to the realm, how do you treat those you _don't_ respect?" Natasha asked.

Polite laughter greeted the question. "Others always see what they expect, my dear. Even you."

She would be a conditional ally, then. Natasha wasn't about to play her hand regarding Loki right away, however. It would be best to let Frigga think she was more malleable than she was.

"I suppose the amenities befitting an Ambassador will be supplied tomorrow," Natasha said.

"But of course. It will be a full day to settle in. Let me escort you to your chambers, Lady Natasha," she offered. "We can get reacquainted."

Natasha took that to mean she wanted to talk about Loki away from prying eyes and ears. She nodded and walked with the Queen, pushing aside her irritation for now. There would be plenty of time to voice her opinion on the topic later. For now, she worked to memorize the layout of the palace as best as she could, taking note of landmarks along the way. Perhaps later she could ask Loki for locator spells or a map of the palace grounds. If she could explore fairly regularly, she wouldn't need the map, however. She doubted that she would be able to roam freely, but there seemed to be few guards in this area of the palace, likely because few enemies were expected to have gotten this far. There seemed to be a handful of servants in uniform, but Frigga ignored them as if they weren't even there. That was a fairly useful piece of information for Natasha, at least.

Frigga's conversation was superficial, and Natasha easily fielded that until they arrived at her suite of rooms. "I'll see you in the morning, Natasha," she said sweetly. "Blessed dreams."

And with that, Natasha was left in a sumptuous suite in one wing of the palace. It was done up in gold, turquoise and green, the fabrics all heavy weights and appearing to be hand woven. Still, the place looked impersonal and terribly baroque, which was not her style at all. She had to assume that the royal apartments would be done up in similar style, and it didn't seem to be Loki's style, either. The closets were already full of dresses in differently weighted fabrics, cloaks and underthings hand tailored. She didn't doubt that they would fit her perfectly; her measurements were no doubt on file from her last visit to Asgard getting healed. Shoes and boots had also been made, and everything looked to be hand woven and hand stitched. Taking one dress out of the closet, she spread it across the bed and inspected each seam and carefully pleated fold in the fabric. There was nothing obviously planted in the dress, and she couldn't detect even a whiff of magic on it.

Come to think of it, there was no magic in the room at all. And the hallways had also been very empty of magic items or the crawling feeling of _seidr_ on her skin. If there was any magic to be had in the palace, it was likely contained in the artifacts locked away in the vaults or perhaps in Frigga's private sitting room.

This didn't mean Natasha planned to let her guard down in the slightest. There were plenty of other threats besides magic ones in this realm.

***

It was easy enough to dress herself in one of the traditionally flowing gowns of Asgardian women and hide most of her weapons within the sleeves or beneath the folds of the dress. She was a fair hand at making small, even stitches, so she was able to add slits in the back of her pockets to allow her easy access to her thigh holsters. The maid sent to help her dress was scandalized at the sight of her already settled into the clothing. "But!" she began helplessly. "I had instructions!"

"I'm sure you did," Natasha said, the corners of her lips curling into a slight smile. It didn't touch the rest of her facial features. She sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot beside her. "Why don't you tell me exactly what those instructions were? And who's who in the palace? We wouldn't want to cause any embarrassment for the king and queen, of course."

Haltingly, the maid explained that her name was Bera, and she was one of the household servants that usually cared for the rooms and kept them clean. She wasn't generally a lady's maid; Queen Frigga had her handful of servants and otherwise didn't trouble the rest of the household staff. In other noble homes — the jarls, Bera explained— there should be at least one body servant and one hairdresser for any lady of worth. It was unseemly for noblewomen to actually do menial tasks personally, just as it was not expected for any jarl to actually know the names of all the servants in their employ or any names of the tradesmen they worked with or had business dealings with. Perhaps favorites could be recognized or named, but in the whole, they were valued in numbers as a sign of prestige and wealth.

"I suppose there are some that aren't happy with this kind of arrangement."

"There are many karl who do not like such treatment," Bera said after a moment. She didn't see any censure in Natasha's expression. "But those voices are silenced quickly."

"How?"

"There are... punishments. Fines. Expulsion from the city. None would want to leave Asgard, my lady. This is the most enlightened city in all the realms."

Natasha sincerely doubted that, but held her tongue and simply nodded. "I'm not used to having a body servant dress me. Where I'm from, assistance like that means that you're physically frail or ill." Bera's expression was immediately one of understanding; even in Asgard, no one wanted the implication that they were incapable of any task. "We can have an agreement, then. We'll pretend you're dressing me in the morning, but really you'll teach me about Asgard. Little things, like how the society works, what do the clothes mean, how to speak respectfully. There was no training for that in my world before I arrived here, and it wouldn't do to offend the people here. I want to help Asgard and Midgard get along better, not cause any rifts."

Bera's eyes shone with the importance of that task. "There were whispers after the dinner last night that you are not like other females. That you are kind and wise, even if you are more like Lady Sif than Lady Beru."

"Who's Lady Beru?"

"She is the wife of the High Chamberlain, the mightiest of the jarls. He fought beside King Odin in the fierce war against the Jotnar, saving Asgard from the monstrous brutes."

Clicking her tongue in appreciation, Natasha nodded again. "I'm going to need a lot of help in learning who's who at court." Bera beamed, her smile instantly transforming her face. "Think you can do that for me?"

"Of course, my lady." She cast her eyes over Natasha's form, appraising her appearance. "Let us arrange your hair accordingly, and I will tell you about the jarls you will meet today."

***

Relieving the amulet of several layers of spells had actually freed Stephen Strange and several other creatures that obviously were not human in origin. He cheerfully regaled the Avengers with tales from his exile inside the Essine Ruby, and thanked Loki for all of her help. "It is a most dangerous artifact," Loki demurred, edging away from the company. "And it's not yet fully destroyed. Such a task would wreak havoc on the city, which would harm many." She could feel the steady gaze of the others on her, but refused to run in the opposite direction despite her impulse to do so. Dr. Strange had agreed with her wholeheartedly and even offered to help her deconstruct the amulet. Loki had refused, citing her nearly immortal status and the immense power it had already discharged, which had led to seizures. Thankfully, he had backed off and took the other creatures with him to Sanctum Sanctorum.

Still, Loki wanted to touch the amulet. Unweaving its spells was strangely addictive, and not just for the surges of magic that she could absorb. There was something almost soothing about it, as if she could unravel its magicks and perhaps unravel some of herself along with it. When Natasha returned, she would be so proud of who Loki had become. Loki wouldn't be so broken and fractured, wouldn't be dangling over the precipice of failure. Instead, she could possibly unravel her broken edges and weave herself into something new and whole.

Bruce and Tony were both in the lab when Loki found her way there. She eyed them warily, not sure what the two of them wanted. Natasha _said_ they were trustworthy, but...

"Ah. I wondered when you might feel up to taking another look at the amulet."

"I promised I would," Loki told Bruce, ignoring Tony for the moment. His gaze was assessing in a way that was more obtrusive than Bruce's gentle ways, and Loki could remember the rasp of his amused laughter. Tony was as much an egotist as Loki, but liked to think of himself as more of a humanitarian now.

"I don't like these numbers," Tony said now, pointing to a chart on a see through screen. He frowned at it, water bottle in hand, and then took a swig. "This bothers me."

"I can return at a later date," Loki told Bruce stiffly. Her spine ached in that way it used to when something bad was about to happen. She would much rather crawl into her suite and hide until the feeling went away.

"No, no, it's fine," Bruce said, waving Loki toward the contraption he had set up to hold the amulet in place as she did her work. "We're working on something else over here."

Loki scented a lie in his words, but couldn't tell where. She would have retreated anyway, but the lure of the amulet was greater than her caution.

She focused on the Essine Ruby with her other sense, the one that could feel the push and pull of _seidr._ Once she found the edge of the spells surrounding the ruby in the amulet, Loki held her hands up and closed her eyes to maintain her focus. Tuning out the presence of Bruce and Tony was easy once she could feel the spell she needed to unravel next. It was like hooking her fingers beneath the edge of a heavy object and starting to shift and pull it out of alignment. She had taken off the surface layer of spells before, and the ones that anchored the small dimension within the ruby. Now she was at the layer of spells that may have been there long before the pocket dimension was even dreamed of. It felt strange, alien in a way she couldn't name, and it took time to figure out the shape of the spell around it. Still, she found herself unraveling the spell as she went, some of its energy flowing into her body.

As the last of the spell came completely undone from the ruby, Loki felt a _snap_ and sizzle along her spine. Her eyes flew open and her mouth formed an O of pain, as if every nerve ending had electricity coursing through them. It was power, more than she had siphoned off before, and it almost felt like the fires that had restructured her body.

And then it abruptly ended, her body collapsing to the floor in a tangled heap of limbs.

When she came to, Loki saw Bruce hovering over her, fingers at the pulse in her throat, counting out the beats. "Still steady."

"JARVIS could tell you that," Tony scoffed behind Bruce, a Starkpad in hand. Loki wondered if he was running some kind of analysis on her body, and if he could tell that she had stolen quite a bit of magical energy from the amulet's spells.

Ignoring Tony, Bruce looked at Loki. "What happened? Did you push too far?"

"I did a single spell," Loki replied, brows furrowing in confusion. "It was complicated, part of the internal network of magic. There is much potential energy bound in such a thing. Perhaps I unraveled it too quickly."

"You'll need to slow it down, then," Tony said, looking up from his Starkpad. "The algorhythms on this are _insane,_ and aren't like your usual readings. Something had completely destabilized your readings."

Loki frowned at him, but didn't want to admit that she had no idea what he was saying.

Tony seemed to realize that she was confused, and took a breath. "You normally give off a certain energy. Like radiation. It changed as you worked on that thing."

"Ah." Loki blinked furiously, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation other than the truth. "It seemed more difficult than last time. Perhaps that was why? I had to change myself somehow in order to do the task?" She shrugged. "I've never had to look at _how_ it worked before."

Tony didn't seem entirely convinced, but let it go. He returned to his workstation, frowning and muttering at the Starkpad. Bruce helped Loki to her feet. "If it _is_ getting more difficult, we'll want to space out how often you're taking this thing apart. Wait until the readings return to your baseline. There's no point in letting you kill yourself. Natasha still wants you around for some reason."

Oh, how her heart sang and her spirit soared at that. The others knew who she belonged to, knew that she was special and important and cherished. Loki was sure that should be even more so if she completely took apart the spells on the ruby and was powerful and in control.

Everyone had to have a reason to go on. Perhaps this could be hers for a time.

***  
***


	3. Descending Arc

Frigga visibly brightened as soon as she saw Natasha approaching in a flowing gold gown shot with maroon threads. "Ah, there you are. Very fitting for your station here."

Natasha merely inclined her head slightly, almost regally, and took in the lavish rococo décor with jeweled and gilt accents. Even in the queen's personal sitting room, no expense was spared in making everything beautiful and impossibly ornate. It reminded her of the royal palaces on Earth as well. "Thank you for the accommodations. When I was told that necessities would be provided, I wasn't sure what I would need to bring with me."

"It's just clothing, and gives the weavers and embroiderers new tasks to perform," Frigga replied with a dismissive wave. "Plus, you are sure to look the part. Some of the dress that I've seen on your world would not fit court styles."

Considering her visits to Earth had been very brief and were in Avengers Tower, Natasha could only guess Frigga was referring to styles that passersby in Midtown wore. That would be either business attire, casual dress from the runners or tourists heading to Madison Square Garden, Grand Central Station or Times Square. "No," she said with a slight smile, "I don't think it would work very well at all."

"It has only been one dinner that you've experienced so far, but there are many more events that you will likely participate in as an ambassador. It is a title that automatically confers rank upon you, making you one of our elite."

Bera had started explaining rank to her that morning, but Natasha kept her politely interested expression on her face. It would be interesting to get Frigga's take on the subject.

The royal family made up the top social strata, of course. Below that ranking were the jarls, of which there were separate ranks. Higher ranked jarls included the high chamberlain, stewards, religious leaders, scholars and estate owners. Lesser jarls were the horsemen, falconers and hunters. Warriors were held in great esteem, and considered jarls as well. Karls were ordinary laborers, fishermen, craftsmen and farmers. While Frigga didn't mention thralls, Bera had mentioned in hushed whispers that the practice of servitude was outlawed but still maintained in the outskirts of the city when some karls were unable to pay debts. Most of the populace followed the law closely; those who didn't generally were punished severely, but weren't called thralls. They still were thralls in all but name, as they were stripped of funds, property, title and the right to conduct business. Most lawbreakers didn't survive long in Asgard.

"I'll introduce you to the appropriate people to talk to, those that are important in running Asgard smoothly," Frigga said, her voice cool and gracious but with a core of steel beneath it. she didn't intend to be denied, and Natasha knew that the "appropriate" people would all be ones that Frigga would expect her to speak to regularly.

Conforming to Frigga's plans for now would allow her to move more or less unrestricted, which is what Natasha really wanted. She merely inclined her head and absorbed Frigga's monologue regarding some of the higher jarls Natasha would be expected to speak to regularly.

High Chamberlain Alfhild and his son Egill were among Odin's chief advisors. They saw to matters of state that Odin didn't personally attend to, rather like a prime minister did. Three others made up Odin's council: Einarr, Hrodvaldr and Sigsteinn. They kept track over the internal economy of Asgard, from crafts to commerce to agriculture. Odin's war council consisted of five advisors: Snerra, Inge, Rolf, Heinrik and Leif. All of these ministers had children, though most were not considered wise enough to be in the role of advisors to Odin. They participated in social gatherings and carried respectable rank in society. Most of the other high ranking jarls in Asgard were considered as such because of wealth or property, as well as connections to other high ranking jarls.

Most of the children mentioned were only sons, so Natasha took advantage of a pause in Frigga's recitation to ask about the daughters. That gave the Queen pause. "They're ladies at court, of course. Wives and daughters of the other nobles."

"Don't any of them have positions of power in court?"

"They carry social weight."

"Because of who they're related to."

Frigga gave Natasha a look that clearly stated she was being obtuse. "Of course."

"So I'll be the only woman there with any rank based on my own merit?"

That made Frigga almost uncomfortable. "Well, Sif is away right now. She is the daughter of a fine general, and has taken to warrior training. She is recognized as such in her own right."

Remembering what Bera had said about Natasha being kinder than expected, she looked at Frigga with a slight frown. "How is she when at court? I haven't had the chance to spend much time with her on Midgard, since she was protecting Dr. Foster."

This gave Frigga pause. "I suppose I thought the two of you were great friends already."

"Our jobs put us in different places, and our paths didn't cross that often."

"Sif had always been present here," Frigga began. Natasha wondered why she seemed so hesitant to speak. "She was a close companion for both my sons, and it was usually understood that one day she would marry Thor. Her family is well connected, from a long and prestigious line. She was even friends with Loki, and it was important for any bride Thor married to understand what his role was to have been."

"Advisor, I thought."

"Higher than even the High Chamberlain," Frigga confirmed with a nod. There was a slight shift in her expression. "Loki is a _seidmenn,_ a male practitioner of _seidr,_ you understand," she began delicately.

"It's not a common role for men to take," Natasha said, tone matter of fact. "It opens them up to ridicule and scorn."

"Just so," Frigga said, relieved that she wouldn't have to explain that part. _"Ergi_ is that unmanliness which could ruin social standing, invalidate wisdom and lead to suspicion and wicked behavior." She paused again. "Yet I trained him in _seidr,_ because he was gifted with magic. I could sense the power he possessed, that which the Jotnar feared at his birth. That was why he was exposed in their temple to die. That was why Odin could bring him to me to replace my dead child."

"It kept him near you," Natasha guessed. "So you wouldn't be alone when Odin went back to war, because the Jotnar wouldn't have given up easily."

Frigga blinked at Natasha. "You are quite perceptive."

"When Loki was older, he understood the context of the things he learned from you."

She nodded slowly, and looked out at the garden with a pained expression. "But he was such a gifted student of the art. It would have been a shame to suppress such skills, and he really has always been clever." Turning back to Natasha, there was a fierceness beneath the shame. "He was _my_ son, and if he didn't want to be turned to warrior fare, I didn't push him to it. The _seidr_ is difficult to master, and master it he did."

Natasha wondered if she was proud because her son had been so skilled or because it meant she was such a gifted teacher. Women could only excel if their male relatives did, after all, and she wasn't expected to excel at warrior's training.

"So how did Sif start training for war?" she asked.

"She was hanging about the training halls, I suppose. Or visiting her father. It shouldn't have been allowed, but Thor thought it amusing. And she excelled. She did better with the sword and shield than many of the men in the training halls, and she fought hard for a place at my son's side." Frigga turned back to the garden and lightly touched a flower in bloom. "He was so proud of her skill. He boasted of how well she took to it."

"And Loki didn't. And he didn't get along with the Warriors Three either, did he?"

"Is that what they call them on Midgard?" Frigga asked, amused. Natasha merely shrugged. "I suppose he didn't. There were scrolls and books, the comforts of the library and spell work. He had other interests."

"But none that they thought worth having."

Frigga grasped the flower in her fist, crushing it. "He can fight. He is brave and _foolish_ and prideful to a fault."

"So is Thor sometimes," Natasha commented.

She whirled around, the flower still clutched in her fist. "He has changed so much..."

"He called humans petty and tiny. As good a friend as he is, even Thor has his moments." She shrugged negligently. "We all have our faults."

"And what of yours?" Frigga asked, voice sharp.

Natasha smiled at her, a flash of teeth that for a moment startled the goddess. "I can overestimate my abilities and get in over my head. I know I'm guilty of a great many things that can never really be atoned for. Yet here I am, still standing."

"Why did you accept the Ambassadorship?" Frigga asked, voice quiet and humbled.

"Why did you let Odin ask for me?"

Frigga turned away. "Hel has many seers in her realm. After death, many of the _volva_ had their powers grow exponentially. The _seidr_ already gave them the gift to prophesy and manipulate the world. Such is the way of it, though it can leave the body physically weak or the mind altered." Natasha thought of Loki under the influence of Amora's rings and nodded, understanding the concept. "You figured prominently in their visions, Natasha. Odin had seen a figure while he was in the Odinsleep, a black shadow with fire for hair, and knew at once that this figure would be able to save us."

Natasha lifted one of the intricate braids that Bera had put into her hair that morning. "Fire, huh? It's one description for it."

"Loki has been fascinated with you for some time," Frigga reminded her. "It seemed to be an elegant solution. If you walked between our worlds, helped to contain him..."

She leveled a hard stare at Frigga, which silenced her. "If you had been honest from the first, none of the horrors likely would have happened. If he knew the truth of his birth, if he knew what his training would lead to, if he knew what was planned to be his place in court... Silence did nothing to help you in Asgard. The codified silence does nothing but lead to estrangement, resentment and more frustration and pain than was necessary." Her voice was perfectly flat and unforgiving, the same tone she had sometimes taken with Loki.

Frigga reacted as if Natasha had struck her. "You... You have no idea how it works here..."

"And you have no idea how _I_ work."

The two women faced each other, and it was Frigga that looked away first, opening her fist and letting the crushed flower fall to the ground. "Apparently, I don't."

"You helped create the monster in the darkness and you expect me to fix that mistake. You want me to change that which can't be changed." Natasha didn't bother to layer scorn into her tone, but kept it the same emotionless cadence. "And when things don't change, I make the convenient target to lay the blame on."

"It's not like that."

"But it allows you and Odin to absolve yourselves of any part in his creation. Each of you played a part you won't acknowledge. He's made his own terrible choices he won't admit to." Natasha could practically feel the pull and crackle of Hel's healing magic under her skin. "I won't be part of that game you're playing, I'm letting you know that right now."

"He's damaged, Natasha. He can destroy worlds," Frigga pleaded, turning toward her again, tears shimmering in her eyes.

This time, the display of weak femininity didn't fool Natasha. "And if he does, I'll kill him because you can't." She flashed Frigga a death's head grin. "He'll let me do it, and thank me as he dies. Because he can't stand being the monster that he is, but doesn't know how else to be. That's what you've done, Frigga. You created a boogeyman you can't contain."

"You can," Frigga insisted. "All the prophets say that you can."

"Why should I?" Natasha challenged. "Why am I the one to fix your mistakes?"

"There's good in him," Frigga said, shaking her head. "He's capable of so much more."

"And if he's not?"

"No. I refuse to believe that."

"Because you're his mother." Natasha's pitiless demeanor was reducing Frigga to genuine tears now, and she turned away to hide them. "Because you love him. Because you can't see him for who he is and what he can be. Because you can't see the fault lines in him, and they're miles wide, easy for anyone else to see. He's killed. He's _massacred._ Not because he enjoys death, at least, but because it's a means to an end, because lives mean nothing to him if he doesn't know them personally. Because it's playing the numbers, it's following the formula of a spell, and he can't be bothered with politeness."

"You shouldn't say such things," Frigga said, not able to meet Natasha's gaze.

"They're true."

Frigga turned to face her, teeth bared and eyes red rimmed from her tears. It looked almost as fierce an expression as Natasha had ever seen on Loki's. "It doesn't mean you can say such things to me without impunity. It doesn't mean you can't fix it!"

"He's not a machine you can simply fix because you don't like how it's working!" Natasha threw back at her, her own teeth bared in anger. "You don't get to erase the bits you don't like and put in new ones. You don't get to choose only the acceptable parts of him. If he's your son, you accept all of it. _All_ of it. There's a whole lot of darkness in him, not a lot of light. If you truly care for him, you see all of it as it is, no apologies or excuses."

Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. Natasha could picture one of Loki's stylized knives in one of her hands, and wondered how she could have missed it before. Frigga wasn't a warrior like Thor or Sif, but that didn't mean she was helpless. She had her _seidr_ and her knives, and she likely taught most of those moves to Loki herself. Natasha knew how formidable an opponent Loki could be, so she couldn't ever underestimate Frigga.

"You do not tell me how to love my son."

"No, I can't. I can only tell you what he needs. And you're not it."

At a loss for words, Frigga stalked from the gardens without a backward glance.

Natasha made sure she had her throwing knives strapped to her arms and her guns readily available through artfully placed slits in the skirts.

***

Loki felt unsettled in her own skin, a ravenous itch devouring her from the inside out. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, though she didn't understand why she would want to shed them. There was no terrible thing to hide herself from, no one hunting her. No one but the Avengers knew she was in female form, and she didn't even venture from the tower. Steve had suggested it, likely in a fit of magnanimity when he saw her curled up in one of the common rooms staring out of the window, but she had refused. If she broke any of their rules in the slightest, they could bind her with the heavy black chains, nullify her magic, do what they wished.

She shouldn't have become female. The flesh was weak, soft, able to be abused too easily. It was a constant threat, and she remembered the awful taunts of warriors of Asgard before sparring or battles. Without a protector, she was too vulnerable, too exposed if she walked out in the open. It was no different on Midgard; seeing the news programs or looking at their Internet on the computers only showed her how little difference existed in some areas.

Though Natasha did not conform to that idea. There were other women that didn't, either, that pushed against constraints of gender roles and were stronger than their appearance would suggest. It was an internal strength, one that Loki wasn't sure she could possess.

As a woman, Loki should have been different, free of the past harms and the thrice-damned ledger foisted upon her blood. But all she knew that she was still haunted by that past, the memory of her past deeds still trailing behind her. She wasn't safe at all, though she had allowed herself to feel that way for a time.

A choked sob escaped her, and the tears found their way down her cheeks. _Weak._ She was so laughably weak, even with siphoning off power from the amulet, even with crafting a new body for herself. There were no ties here, no safety, no belonging. Loki had her rage and the need for dominance over others, but she had put herself into a weakened position. The anger burned through her but came out as tears and waspish behavior, rather than the cool, calculated cunning she had been able to show as a man. She couldn't be aloof and controlled as Natasha, couldn't hide the simmering torrents of emotion beneath her skin.

Loki clawed at her arms, but found no relief. The skin broke, bled red, sealed over without leaving any marks behind. Her insides were a gnawing, empty hole, nothing to fill it but misery and pain. And oh, she had that in spades, she had lifetimes of it, the damnable ledger reminding her of such a thing. She wailed, the salty tears finding her lips as they fell down her cheeks, and she gouged at her face. Still no relief, still the wellspring of discomfort and pain. It felt alien now, as if this body couldn't contain it as well as the old one could. But that made no sense. She had forged herself anew, and everything should have been changed. It should have been different now, she should have been able to start over. Natasha hadn't looked askance at her, hadn't shied away from her female form, and had kissed and fucked her just the same.

Throwing herself to the floor, Loki panted for breath. No, that hadn't been enough. It hurt, but it didn't hurt enough to drown out the impending doom that she felt. She banged her head into the floor, seeing stars, and there was the overhead voice of JARVIS asking if she was all right. No, no, no. She was not all right, she was not okay, she should have been better, but she wasn't, she wasn't, she wasn't.

Instead of answering, she screamed and raked her nails down her cheeks. She could feel the crackle and static of magic beneath her skin, healing the wounds, and it wasn't enough. It wasn't a burn, it wasn't cleasing, it couldn't make her feel whole. She _needed_ to feel whole, she needed to be at peace, and she couldn't find it.

_A blade._

Yes, Natasha had said that a blade could bring her peace. A blade would give her pause. A moment's calm within the storm, a whisper of contentment before the storm crashed upon her once again, leaving her in chaos. It was comfortable and frightening at once, tearing her apart even as it put her back together.

Slashing reality apart next to her, Loki seized upon one of her enchanted blades. With a cry of triumph, she brought it to her leg and cut through the fabric of her pants as the portal slammed shut beside her. She cut and cut and cut, laughing all the while, seeing the red blood get soaked up by the fabric. It didn't matter that JARVIS was saying override codes were in effect, that his voice coolly informed the room that she was harming herself. It didn't matter, it didn't matter, this was real, this was solid, this was _control._ She couldn't leave the tower for fear of breaking rules and being subjected to the chains, but she could do this, she could have this, she could take herself apart and put herself back together and _she could do this._ She could cut herself to the bone, the enchantments on the blade would let her, and she could see herself exposed as the horrid monstrous thing that she was, and the magic would knit her back together to do it all again. She could possibly cut it out of her, excise the demons in her body, get the dreams out of her mind. She could do anything if she cut deep enough, let the power of the amulet fill her up in place of the nightmares.

"Jesus fucking Christ," came Tony's voice behind her, but Loki ignored it. There was blood on her knife and on her clothes and on the floor around her, messy smears along the hardwood all around her. The room was empty otherwise, just her and her blade, the wall of glass open to Midtown and the pulse of life around her. Loki had nothing else, deserved nothing else, and this was her way to atone, was it not? She just had to open her eyes and _see,_ and she would make sure she was better before Natasha came back.

By the Tree, _Natasha._

Loki was damaged, so damaged, she could feel it, she knew it, and somehow Natasha was still there, distant but present. Somehow Loki hadn't driven her away yet. She pushed everyone else away, harried them and mocked them and _hated_ them, feeling the differences that no one could voice, no one explained until it was revealed that he was the monster beneath the bed, the creature of stories that everyone feared. He was hatred and fear and despair, and even though he was now a she, that part hadn't changed.

She screamed when Tony stopped her from taking the knife to her face, stopped her from cutting out her eyes so she wouldn't see the horror on his face. Shrieking in rage and terror and despair, she felt the burn of magic building beneath her skin. Static and fire and electricity sparked, and she thought for a moment that she was going to burn Tony the way she had burned Natasha. Fear spiked through her, hot and instant, making her scream.

Steve was there somehow, wresting the knife from her hand, saying something she couldn't understand as she screamed in Alltongue. Let her do this. Let her cut it all out. She had to take it out of her, she had to get rid of it, _she had to be cleansed._

"The fucking amulet," Tony was saying to someone over her head. "Jesus Christ, I didn't think this would happen."

There was Bruce with a syringe of something, plunging it into the muscle of her arm, a sting she welcomed even as she resented it. And there was Clint in the doorway, his face an impossible mask to read. Judging, weighing, finding her wanting.

These were Natasha's friends, her comrades, the ones she would not abandon for Loki. She was distant from SHIELD, partly because of circumstances beyond her control, partly because of her association with these men. They were special. They were her _friends,_ and Loki wasn't even sure if she could make the claim. Sometimes, perhaps. Sometimes.

Her screams were quieter, but the crackle beneath her skin remained. She could feel the evil within her, begging to be released. Rage and terror and harm, pain and pain and pain. "I have to get it out," Loki wailed, tears mixing with the blood on her face. Tony and Steve held her tightly, and Bruce was reaching into a kit to prepare another syringe. "I have to get it out, I have to get it out, it's the only way," she pleaded, trying to make them understand. She was _evil,_ she was _wrong,_ and it would only get worse if they didn't let her do this. She had to cut it out of her, she had to release it before it poisoned her so thoroughly she harmed Natasha. She couldn't hurt Natasha. She was the only thing left that Loki hadn't completely ruined, and she couldn't hurt her. She _couldn't._

Another syringe in her arm, and Loki let out a scream of frustration. They didn't understand, they couldn't, they didn't listen, they didn't hear. She was a wellspring of regret and pain, it would only get worse with time. This body couldn't contain it. She wasn't healing the way she thought she would when she changed. There was no peace, there was no pause, she hadn't used the blade for long enough, she needed to get deeper, she needed to dig farther until she found the source of it all and eliminated it.

But she was a monster, the horror in tales meant to keep Asgardian children in line. She would never get it out, never, and on some level she knew that. She could never be cleansed. There was no peace for monsters like her. There only death, only oblivion, which she didn't even deserve. She had killed millions without regret, would make the same choices all over again. It didn't matter, the Jotun needed to die, _she_ needed to die, and the miseries of the universe still wouldn't end. She was only one conduit, only one monster. There were so many in the darkness of space, hiding on Yggdrasil's branches.

A third syringe, and her screams quieted to hiccups. "The monster has to die," Loki managed to say before her eyes closed. The men around her exchanged discomfited looks, and she knew they must have understood at last. "I have to kill it."

Darkness took her then. Brief oblivion, a reprieve she did not deserve. Still, she would take it.

***

Natasha was in the public overhanging gardens with Bera trailing behind her as she walked alongside Lady Beru and Lady Drifa. Both were wives of high ranking officers in Odin's court, and seemed to be considered the grand dames of Asgardian society. Lady Beru was the wife of High Chamberlain Alfhild, and was a petite, soft spoken woman in mixed company. She was held to be one of the standards of femininity, as she was always impeccably dressed, knew all the gossip in the noble houses and held balls with regularity. She had softly curling blonde hair like many Asgardian women did, her eyes a brilliant emerald green. Her jewelry played up those features, and her dress was made of the finest silk with gold embroidery. Lady Drifa was married to Lord Einarr, the Commerce Advisor. She was taller than Lady Beru, with sharp and angular features, and her voice was a little harsher in tone. Her clothing and jewelry were also very tasteful and elegant, but very obviously expensive and meant to display her position of wealth.

Both of the Ladies had an entourage, making Natasha's single body servant seem paltry in comparison. Natasha didn't mind it, though that seemed to make both of them feel vastly superior to Natasha despite her designation of honor. If anything, that worked better to Natasha's purposes. She was meeting with them at Frigga's insistence that they were the "proper" entrée into Asgardian society.

"Even within society," Beru began in her soft voice, "there are appropriate personages to associate with. There are families that were present from the beginning of time, upholding the unity of our people and supporting the royal house unwaveringly." She gave Natasha a proud smile. "My lineage is a long and proud one, full of commanding officers and advisors to the royal house, and Alfhild is from a similarly long and distinguished lineage. Our son has every advantage available, and is fulfilling the role of his station quite well."

"What is his station?" Natasha asked politely. It was frighteningly easy to fall back into the simple socialite role. Really, it didn't matter what realm they were from, rich snobs all looked and acted the same.

"Egill is working with Alfhild, and is primed to become High Chamberlain when Alfhild steps down from the position." She beamed, a picture perfect proud mama. "Such a good son, so very thoughtful and respectful. We're looking into making a good match for him."

"And what about your family, Lady Drifa?"

"I have three daughters," Drifa sighed, as if admitting that was a burden. "Given how difficult it was for me to breed, I would have thought I would be gifted with at least one son." She sniffed, discontent, lips twisting into a grimace. "Ours will be an empty house soon enough, and my husband is the last of his line. Such an ignoble end."

"Daughters don't help their families here?" Natasha asked, playing up the ignorance she was supposed to have regarding these matters.

"They help their _new_ families, of course. It is sons that bring glory and honor to a House, not daughters," Beru stated with an indulgent smile.

"But Lady Sif..."

"Bah. Her father wished too hard for a son, and his wives were always too fragile. None could bear him a proper child."

"Oh?" Natasha asked politely. She had the feeling that Drifa enjoyed disparaging other nobles, especially because of her own limited means to status.

"I suppose you could say that poor Sigwifa did do her duty, and that Heimdall is a proper son, for all that he cannot be devoted to his House." Natasha blinked in surprise at Beru's quiet words, as she wouldn't have guessed that the Gatekeeper was Sif's brother. "It's not her fault that the birthing killed her, or that he would be removed from that House so soon afterward."

"Orin was beside himself at the time," Drifa said, a smile gracing her lips. It looked as though she enjoyed telling this story. "Adisa was too frail as well, and Orin really should have chosen better. It was hardly a sparse selection that year, if I do recall. All of Adisa's offspring died in the breeding or the birthing, and the last killed her as well."

"She was such a sweet thing, I remember her and her mother," Beru sighed. "So quiet and reserved, so respectful of the old ways. Eyia was nothing like her, and that is probably why Sif turned out the way she did."

"Oh?" Natasha asked, eyebrow raised in silent query.

"She was never a proper girl," Drifa sniffed.

"With Heimdall gone, Orin had nothing else but Sif. Eyia was too weakened by the birth, too frail to go into society. As a warrior jarl, Orin really couldn't be expected to stay home to pay court to such a slip of a girl," Beru said, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "She should have allowed him a consort, but she refused to entertain the idea. So Sif trained with the menfolk, and her hair color changed overnight. It shows how unnatural she is."

"She's an excellent warrior."

Drifa sniffed again, lips curling in disdain. "Such behavior isn't proper of a lady of the court, and it's a disservice to her House. She should have gone to court and showcased her attributes rather than play at being a man. It doesn't matter if she's a friend of the Crown Prince, it's unseemly and not at all the thing Orin should have allowed."

"Odin seems to trust her," Natasha commented. Inside, she was bristling at Drifa's treatment of Sif, who was far more honorable and straightforward. "She follows her duty and is a very loyal warrior of Asgard."

"Bah. It's unseemly, and there are warriors aplenty," Drifa said with a dismissive wave. "Who would want to marry such a woman? Too forward and masculine."

"Well, it might mean she bears sons and no daughters, and would be less likely to die of it, which any lord would be mightily interested in," Beru remarked, shrugging. "It would not be of Orin's house, but that cannot be helped."

"Is that all that women are expected to do?" Natasha asked, making sure her brows furrowed in a curious expression rather than frustrated.

"Running a household is no mean feat," Beru scoffed. "How else will the silly karls know what to do? Traditions must be upheld, after all, and these are not _their_ ways. There are too many household accounts to keep track of, the staff and the needs of guests during the balls and events being held. It takes incredible dedication to pull of such things flawlessly, you must understand. As an Ambassador, you don't have these tasks to perform. You merely attend such events, you don't host them yourself."

"Oh, remember when one of the Ambassadors from one of those backward realms tried to throw a ball?" Drifa asked, an ugly and snide tone to her voice. "What a _disaster,_ it was a wonder they ever offered to send others here. Have they no shame at all?"

"What was so terrible?"

"You're such an innocent, are you not?" Drifa asked with exaggerated concern. Natasha refrained from sliding one of her knives out from beneath her sleeve and burying it her throat. Too bad the royal family would never know how many ways she could lay waste to the vapid nobility on this realm. Honestly, they were making her miss tracking down Hydra and AIM goons or their new wave of mystics.

"Each season has a theme, of course," Beru said, leaning back in her seat and primly adjusting the folds of her skirt. "Our beloved Queen generally leaves it up to the High Jarls, and we do so try to impress her. The Queen's favor is not given lightly."

"And knowing the theme of the year, those backward slugs thought to undermine tradition and flaunt their own styles." Drifa's lips curled in disgust. "As if anything could compare to Asgard in might or beauty or elegance."

"It's quite the challenge to live up to, I suppose," Natasha replied neutrally.

"Precisely," Drifa said with a nod, gracing her with a rare smile. "But I suppose you would understand that better than most, as you're a woman."

"Oh? Were the other Ambassadors only men?"

"It's hard to tell with some of those outworlds," Drifa sniffed.

"Hardly matters in any case," Beru declared with a nod. "You've arrived after the start of the season, so you're a bit behind in the times. Of course the Queen had thought ahead, the delightful woman that she is. So we'll coach you through the season. The theme of the year is renewal, and it really is a charming idea. She was so taken with it."

"Did you or your husband think of it?" Natasha guessed, wishing she could quit this cloying conversation and do something of actual value.

"Egill did, the darling boy," Beru said proudly. "I do so hope that he will be a boon companion for the Crown Prince. It would be quite the coup for our House."

The term made Natasha think of Thor telling her that she could have been a boon companion for Loki, if only he didn't destroy it. If this was the sort of society that he had been expected to perpetuate, Natasha could see why he would rail against it. This was idiocy and blind devotion to an ideal that held no practical sense. She let Beru's talk of fabrics and colors wash over her, and instead thought of how to turn the current trend of hairpins into possible weapons. That was a ridiculously easy exercise, one that she could do while listening with half an ear. It let Beru think she was being helpful and friendly, and gave Natasha a sense of what mattered to the High Jarls of Asgard.

Not once did she hear genuine concern regarding the karls, potential thralls or denizens of any other realm. Not once did she hear about the lost prince exiled as a traitor. She barely even heard about Thor and his warriors in Vanaheim, or even why he sought to bring peace to the other realms along the World Tree. It simply didn't matter to these women, not when compared to the cut of a dress or the best way to drape ropes of jewels across a skirt to draw the right amount of attention to one's station at court.

Somehow she hadn't thought this would be part of her agreement to be Ambassador of Midgard, and chafed at the thought of having to pretend to be just as vapid as these women. Still, it was that or getting stifled by the disdain of their husbands.

Hopefully, Sif, Thor, and the Warriors Three would finish their campaign on Vanaheim soon, so that she had a few friendly faces to see. Natasha found this social whirl and rigid class roles to be far too stifling for her taste.

Afterward, in the empty palace hallways, Bera took in the sight of her scowling face. "Are you all right, Lady Natasha?"

"Just Natasha is fine," she said. "Or Ambassador Romanoff if you _must_ call me by a title." She loathed the idea of being equated with the aristocracy here.

Bera blinked in surprise. "Natasha. It is... forward of you, compared to our ways."

"Probably," Natasha agreed. "I need to learn my way around the palace. Walk with me?"

"I can lead you back to your quarters, Natasha."

"I also want to learn where I am." She forced her features to smooth out. "It's a trick I learned a long time ago. Walking is soothing, so I might as well learn the ways to walk around."

Clucking in understanding, Bera nodded. "It's not my place to speak ill, of course, but I think I know why you need soothing."

Natasha allowed a faint smile to grace her lips. "Are they all that way?"

"I believe so. If you believe the talk in the serving quarters, anyway."

"I'd trust that talk any day. What stories do they tell?"

Bera seemed reluctant at first, but Natasha managed to wheedle a fairly innocuous story about Lady Gisla, the daughter of a lesser jarl, missing the dance steps at a ball and disrupting the elegant line at the ball. One of her suitors, finding it charming, had at once announced that she had invented a new dance and copied her movements. That saved her from too much social embarrassment, and the two were currently betrothed.

"New to the realm as you are," Bera added at the end, smiling, "I don't know if they'd invite you to the joining ceremony. But it seems like the thing Lady Gisla would do. Her ladies all say such nice things about her."

"Do you say anything nice about me?" Natasha asked, stopping and frowning slightly at Bera, giving the impression that she cared about such things.

The girl smiled. "Well, I do say that you don't trouble me overmuch with demands, and you're the sort that wants to do the right thing. That goes far, you know. It's ever so important to follow the rules and perform our duty."

"I'm gathering that," Natasha replied, suppressing a sigh. She almost wished she was back in the Red Room again; those rules were familiar and comfortable, while these felt constraining without reason. "Let's see if I remember the way to my quarters."

***

"We are way out of our league," Tony told Bruce, wiping his hands on his shirt. He had washed them a few times already, changed clothes, but he could still feel Loki's blood. "Fuck," he said, rubbing his hand on his shirt again. "Jesus fucking Christ. Is this how Pep feels putting up with me?" he asked Bruce, eyes wide. "Or you? Because if it is, I am so, so sorry, you have no idea how sorry I am."

Bruce took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. "No, Tony, it's not exactly the same."

"Not exactly doesn't mean it isn't either, don't think I don't hear the double speak."

They were in one of the science labs, and against their better judgment they had brought Loki into it and strapped her to a hospital bed. Sensors were monitoring her; Bruce had given her incredible amounts of sedatives, and was concerned about the consequences. Loki was still breathing, looking as if she was merely sleeping.

"The sensors didn't show any changes in the radiation signals. Gamma and delta waves are exactly the same as they were before this episode started," Bruce said tiredly. "It's not taking apart the amulet that's doing this to her."

"What the hell is it, then?" Tony asked, running his hands through his hair and pulling at it, causing it to spike.

Steve came into the lab then; he had stayed behind to scrub the blood out of the room. Clint had disappeared up into the air ducts or wherever he went when upset about something, Tony had no idea. Steve at least came through in a pinch. He looked at Tony and Bruce with an eyebrow lofted in query. "Should I call Pepper, then?"

"She's in meetings. She's always in a meeting," Tony said with an emphatic shake of his head. "I don't want to bother her with this." There was enough that Pepper had to deal with, from running the company to dealing with his antics to holding him when nightmares and panic attacks disrupted his sleep. She was fast enough and strong enough to hold him down when it got too bad, when he was afraid he would hit her during a nightmare about the Chitauri. He didn't want to burden her with anything else, especially if he wasn't sure _he_ wanted to be burdened with this. Natasha owed him for this.

Okay, Natasha didn't really owe him anything for this, as she obviously didn't know Loki was this fucked up. The entire world owed them all for containing this.

"I don't think she'd be bothered," Bruce pointed out.

"Pepper _said_ if important things were happening, call her," Steve reminded him.

Tony sighed and pointed toward Loki's sedated form. "And that?" he asked. "How do we explain that? If it's not the amulet, then what is it? If it's not the magic making her even more fucked up and trippy, then what the hell is it?"

"She said she had to kill the monster," Steve said quietly. "And she was cutting herself pretty badly. You figure it out."

"We're in over our heads." Tony shook his head. "This is not the place for someone like that."

"SHIELD won't do any better," Steve told him.

"No, I don't think they would. They need us to handle their bigger messes."

"Besides the amulet," Bruce began slowly, "what else does she have to do around here?"

"What do you mean?" Tony asked, brows furrowed.

Steve got the point right away. "Nothing. I offered to take her to Central Park a couple times, or even to the New York Public Library, and she refused. I thought she might want to get out for a bit, but I don't think she wants to. She didn't look it, but I think she's scared someone might know who she is. I've seen her reading books a few times, or practicing in the gym with the staff or just calisthenics. But I don't think she has anything else."

"Are you forgetting this is _Loki?"_ Tony asked, pointing at her sedated form. "Crazy horned godling that tried to take over Manhattan?"

"No," Bruce said patiently, removing his glasses and pinching his nose again. It really was a thing he would have to stop doing, Tony thought. At this rate, he would collapse the sinus cavity, but Tony knew that saying such a thing out loud would only earn him another repressed sigh of frustration. Bruce was rather predictable that way. "Loki is _crazy._ We all know that, we're not denying it. But unleashing that much bored and unrestrained crazy into the world isn't going to help anything," Bruce said slowly. "She needs something to do."

"It gives us a way to keep an eye on her, too," Steve said, crossing his arms and letting out a breath. Bruce nodded, and the two looked at Tony.

"What are you looking at me for?" he asked defensively.

"What can she do that won't get her into trouble?"

"Are we babysitting a psychopath with magic?" he asked, throwing up his hands. "The hell?"

"If _that_ is what she does with nothing to do," Bruce said, pointing at her sedated body, "just wait until she turns it outward. That's what the Battle of New York was, don't you think? Can't kill the insides, so you try to kill the outsides." There was a current of self loathing in his voice, and Tony dimly remembered Bruce admitting to suicide attempts that the Hulk had saved him from. Of all people, he would know how this felt.

Tony blew out a breath, feeling almost chastised. "She's not going anywhere near the suit labs or any weapons R&D."

"What if she could make something?" Steve asked quietly. He shrugged when Bruce and Tony looked at him incredulously. "Look, she's taking apart that amulet even though it made her have seizures twice. She found it and those rings in the first place, even though it hurt her. Him. Whatever. Because Natasha asked her to, and it gave her something to do, right?"

"I suppose," Tony admitted grudgingly.

"Have her make some kind of magical weapon we could use. Give her her own lab to tinker in, experiment on things, blow stuff up, whatever it is that happens with that kind of thing. I'd imagine it would be difficult to do, given what she's doing with the amulet. It eats up her time, she doesn't start cutting herself up and making us think we're next."

"That makes sense." Tony paused, lips twisting a little as he thought about the layout of the upper dozen floors of his tower. "I may have just the place."

***  
***


	4. Renewed Purposes

Loki awoke, restraints in place, and her first instinct was to panic. She couldn't scream, couldn't give Amora or Thanos or the Other that kind of satisfaction. She didn't know who it was that held her, but it didn't matter. Someone was out there, someone wanted to hurt her, and she had to get away, had to start over, had to get into a position of power, she couldn't allow that kind of thing to happen again. She couldn't make a sound, couldn't give away her panic, but she could feel it rising, choking her. She was bound. _Bound._ There was no way to get free, no outlet, no avenues to worm her way through. She couldn't help the heave of her chest as she struggled to breathe and not show her panic; she should have worn armor. The armor had little give, and contained enough spells worked into it to give her comfort. If she had her armor, she could perhaps fight back. She could pull enough energy from the world around her to fight back, to defend herself, to begin plotting.

But she was bound. Unraveled, shattered, broken. Broken, broken, broken, unfinished and unwanted and unloved, the only ones capable of any kindness to her were the ones that liked playing with broken things. And even then, the kindness was a trap, a way to silence her and contain her in a cage of gilt bars, guilt and shame and powerlessness. Her mind whirred on the same track, unable to move away from terror.

There was light around her, and Loki slowly turned her head. There was no other way to see where she was without giving away that she was conscious, but there was no one around. She was strapped to a human hospital bed, soft restraints at her wrists and ankles, a leather strap around her waist and netting on top of that.

Relief flooded through her; this wasn't the heavy black chain that nullified her magic. There was no magic whatsoever in these restraints, and she could manipulate them. She could remove them, they weren't locking her in place after all.

Forcing her breathing into a semblance of normalcy, she tried to focus her will on removing the restraints. They shivered and pulled, but she couldn't quite get them undone. Loki refused to make a sound, and bit her lip fiercely. _Concentrate._ Magic was will made manifest, the weaving of life and energy, the flow of _seidr_ familiar and comforting. When Loki was a boy, it was a way to bond with Frigga. It was a way to excel at something when he couldn't fight for as long or as hard as the others, when _Sif_ could best him in combat. The jeers had gotten under his skin. Wasn't he less of a man, then? Sif had more durability than he did, Sif was more manly than he was. She hated those taunts, they were just as demeaning to her as they were to him, but she held her head high and continued to fight. Loki couldn't fight directly, couldn't match the brute strength of the men that eventually became the castle guards. But he had his _seidr,_ and he had his wits and knowledge, and he was clever. He could get even. He could be proactive.

Loki forced herself to breathe. She had to be clever. If there ever was a time she had to be clever, it was now. She had to open her eyes and see her surroundings, with her two eyes and with her inner eye, and she had to feel the flow of magic.

 _There._ Just where it should have been if she had been in control of her magic. She let out a sigh of relief and pulled herself together. Clips held the netting in place, and she could pull back on the slide and unhook it. But then the netting could be used again, and she didn't want that to happen. Instead, she shredded the netting and the soft restraints, until she could pull at the leather restraint at her waist and undo it. Resisting the urge to set it all on fire, Loki got off of the hospital bed and looked about for a weapon. She recalled that there were sensors everywhere, and didn't want to alert anyone by opening a portal.

Nothing was really appropriate, so she had to make do with her magic and her fists. She might be weak by Asgardian standards, but their physiology was different. Even a weak Asgardian was still stronger than Midgardians.

She had been in a secluded corner of an empty laboratory space, which was similar in design to the one Bruce Banner had used to study the amulet's radiation. Advancing cautiously, she saw Steve Rogers sitting near the exit reading a book. He looked up when he heard her step, but didn't seem to be afraid of her. "Feeling better?" he asked.

Loki frowned at him. "Why are you here?"

"You looked like you were trying to kill yourself," he said flatly.

Bristling, she glowered at him. "I most certainly do _not_ want to die!"

"Yeah, that doesn't seem to fit what we know of you." He put his finger into the book as a place holder and leaned back in his chair. "So. Are you feeling better?"

"What concern is it of yours?"

"Tasha would be upset with you, you know," he replied instead of answering. By the Tree, did _everyone_ refuse to answer questions? "Hurting yourself's not an option."

"Because you all care so very much," Loki sneered.

"No, that's not it," he disagreed. He stretched his legs out, and Loki recalled the strength that he had, a surprising amount given his mortality. "It's because that's cowardly. It's hiding from the real problem."

"Which is?" she snarled, comforted by feeling some of her rage flow through her. It was familiar, something she could latch onto.

"You don't belong anywhere, either."

Loki nearly froze in place, but didn't want Steve to see that he had struck a weak spot. "And what makes you believe such drivel?"

"You stay close to Natasha. You've done some pretty horrible things, and there's no one else that would stick up for ya, is there? But she figured you out, at least some of it, and that's why she made sure there were rules in place while she was gone. You've been following 'em, too. That's the thing that got me thinking. You didn't break any of her rules. You didn't push, even. She's not here, we don't know when she'd get back. You could've, but didn't." Steve sat up straighter in his chair. "Because she's the last friend you've got, and this is the last place you've got to stay."

"I can go to Yggdrasil any time I choose."

"Well, sure, but what's there? Isn't that space? Space is pretty empty."

Yes, it was. Sometimes that was the draw of it, but sometimes that was the horror.

Was Loki really that transparent?

"So," Steve continued in that earnest voice that Loki wanted to silence, "I figure, this is the last place you've got where you can feel kinda safe. But there's not enough to do. I get that, I really do. No purpose, at loose ends..." He gave her a good natured smile, and she believed at once that he was the balm to soften the blow before something awful would be offered.

Loki crossed her arms beneath her breasts and glowered at him. "Get to the point, mortal."

"We don't know this magic stuff. I suppose SHIELD can call on Dr. Strange again, now that he's alive, but I would think after being trapped in a magic spell for over a year, he might want to take a break. You were working with Natasha on stuff."

"So?" she snapped. "Why should I help you?"

"So you're not bored," Steve said flatly. "Because relaxing is fine once in a while, but it's boring if it goes on too long. And you don't strike me as the kinda person who likes being bored."

Loki remembered seeing Steve in the gym a lot, working out and giving punching bags a hearty beating. He had sparred with Natasha or Clint, as much as Loki had avoided them during those times, and he often seemed to be reading or sketching. Steve rarely sat still without something to occupy himself. Perhaps he recognized this in Loki because he was the same way.

"What do you propose then?" she asked, tamping down on the hostility in her tone.

"Can you make magic stuff?" he asked. "Like the amulet thing you're taking apart. Could you make something the rest of us might be able to use?"

"Magical devices often require that the user have some knowledge of _seidr,_ however rudimentary," Loki replied in a scathing tone.

"So it can't ever be done?"

Instead of slinging back _What do you think I just told you?_ , Loki paused. "Some items could be activated with a touch. Some can imbue the wielder with a _seidr_ of a sort, but it is not true magic."

Steve looked thoughtful and impressed at once. "I wouldn't think that's easy to do."

"Of course not!"

"So can you do it?"

And just like that, a trap neatly sprung. Loki would have laughed if she hadn't fallen into it, so instead she gave him a baleful stare. "You think me so easy to charm?"

"Nope. I figured you're just bored out of your mind enough to try it."

He wasn't wrong, more was the pity. It would have been preferable to simply rail at him, lift a fist and strike him down for even suggesting such a bargain. Loki was powerful, a goddess, versed in the art of _seidr_ and could rule this paltry realm.

But he was correct. She was lonely and alone and horrible with idle time.

"What would you need to use?" she asked with a sigh. At least he didn't grin in triumph in front of her. She really would have shot bolts of lightning at him if he had done such a thing.

***

Weeks passed on Asgard since Natasha's initial arrival. During the day she was expected to go to dress fittings and meet with jarls of high and low rank. There were sessions where some wanted to know about Midgard, while others seemed interested in finding out if Midgardian nations were willing to throw support behind different Houses. Some of the jarls equated countries as Houses, the leaders as jarls and the populace as all those karls and thralls under their command. She supposed it was a way to make it more accessible to their understanding, though she would have been more of a warrior under their reasoning than a ruling jarl.

In the evening, she attended concerts, parties and balls. It was expected that she wouldn't attend these events in the same dress twice, with some allowance given to repetition between events of differing importance. Bera kept track of that for Natasha, which helped her to feel incredibly important. She was already helping to explain aspects of Asgardian culture, and had introduced Natasha to some of the important karls that she knew. This actually helped Natasha figure out how importance was ranked in the society, and it definitely tended more toward warriors and hypermasculine interests.

Bera looked about to faint when Natasha insisted on something close to workout attire so that she could train. An appeal to Frigga only had the Queen telling her that Natasha could do as she liked. Natasha hadn't seen the Queen except at a distance since the conversation in the garden, and she could only think it was because of her frank speaking. The Queen likely didn't like being reminded that she had helped to create her own problems, or how brutally she had killed Amora in New York. Likely that just fueled Frigga's nightmares because of the times Natasha so casually mentioned she would kill Loki.

The young warriors laughed at first, eyeing her as if this was nothing but a prank. She stood with her back straight as she spoke to the instructor, a lesser jarl named Bernhard. He wouldn't allow hand to hand grappling, of course, but allowed a knife fight to take place on his grounds. She understood that he was doing it simply because she was the Ambassador, and the Queen had specifically said that Natasha could train whenever the need arose.

"We'll go until first blood," Bernhard told her, an indulgent smile on his face. Natasha instantly wanted to wipe it from his face.

She nodded and went to the weapons rack, testing the weights and sizes of the blades. They weren't as ornate or light as Loki's enchanted blades were, but neither were they as heavy as the broken swords he had given her. She selected a pair of knives that felt comfortable in her hands, weighted similarly to the pair she usually used while fighting and just a little heavier than the pair strapped to her forearms and hidden beneath her tunic sleeves.

The first warrior didn't bother to give her a name or a nod. Natasha fell into a proper stance as she had been taught, and the surrounding area fell away. It was her and her opponent, a tall and heavily muscled man with brown eyes and blonde hair. Like all the other warriors in training, he was bare to the waist and the leggings went just past the knee. Beneath that, he wore hose and training sandals. He carried one knife, not two, and its blade was slightly longer than hers. He seemed content to stand there, but as soon as she gave the respectful nod to begin combat, she darted in close. That startled him, and he skittered backward, lifting his knife in an awkward arc that barely blocked the descending arc of her right hand's blade. Meanwhile, the left arced forward deftly, nicking his forearm.

"Blood," she said, stepping back with a bow. Chagrined, he left the sparring circle. She turned to Bernhard, the same neutral expression on her face. Seeing his thoughtful expression nearly made her smile, but she didn't. "Another."

He nodded, and gestured for his students to line up. Some of them were more interested now, but most still thought of this as a joke.

Natasha was reminded of her early days in the Red Room, or when Clint first brought her into SHIELD. _Let's see what you can really do,_ was the unspoken command.

Let's see, indeed.

The next warrior in training approached with a knife as well, his grip on the hilt tighter than his comrade's had been. He lunged immediately after her nod of acknowledgement, but Natasha spun out of his path and scored a strike along his back with her knife. The warrior froze in shock, stumbling forward a few steps before turning around to yell in surprise at her. Natasha nodded at him as if he greeted her formally. "Blood. Next."

The third warrior sneered at her, as if she was beneath his notice, and if anything, she deliberately tucked into a roll beneath his sweeping arm to slide her blade along the inside of his thigh. He flushed red with the humiliation, and Natasha allowed herself a small smile at the sight of him. "Next."

Bernhard watched her rise to her feet as the fourth warrior approached, more caution in his step than in the others. Natasha couldn't help but think that he was reassessing his opinion of her in spite of his prejudices, but didn't spare him any attention. Her world was narrowed down to the combatant in front of her, the shine of light reflecting off of his blade, and the way that he kept telegraphing what he was going to do before he did it. This one at least had learned from what he saw. "You have some promise," Natasha purred, which startled the warrior. She dodged his lunge, deflecting his blade with her left and pivoting on the ball of her right foot. Her grin was a flash of teeth, a fierce glint in her eye as her right blade came down on his bicep, scoring a line across his skin. "But not good enough."

He nodded, taking the loss gracefully. "In time, perhaps."

"I look forward to it." She stepped back and gave him a respectful nod of her head. "Next."

It was a class of twenty warriors. The fifth and sixth warriors were clumsy, lunging forward with such poor balance that she only had to sidestep and let their weight carry them over the edge of her blade. She sighed and rolled her eyes, then gestured for the seventh to approach. "Give me a challenge, please."

Warrior number seven snagged the unused blade from number six. He beat his chest with his fist, knife still caught within it. "I, Banki, will retrieve the honor stolen from us this day."

"Honor is earned," Natasha told him coldly. "Nothing was stolen this day."

Banki lunged forward, weaker on his left than his right. Natasha darted quickly out of the strike zone, parrying the edge of the blade with hers. She shifted into a deep crouch, beneath the sweep of his arms, knives extended almost as if she was about to throw them. She knew he had to have felt the kiss of the blade against skin as she sliced through his hose before diving down through his bowlegged stance. Her own knives were tucked safely against her chest as she moved into a forward roll, and she immediately brought her arms up and out of the roll as soon as she cleared his legs. Her hair fell over her face, and one of the other warriors chuckled at Banki's expression as his hose gaped and exposed the blood welling to the surface.

Natasha rose to her feet and pivoted to face Bernhard. "Don't you agree? Nothing was stolen."

"No." He turned to the line of students and gestured toward Natasha. "Try to remember your training. This is pathetic."

Two tried to come at once, which made Natasha laugh. These two didn't even try to nod or behave in a formal way, simply rushing at her. She parried one strike with her right hand, slashing out with her left as she arched backward beneath the second warrior's clumsy counterattack. As she swept her torso back up, she shifted her weight to her left leg and used her right, hooking it behind one warrior's knee. His balance overturned, he crashed down and lost his knife. Natasha whipped her left hand behind her in an arc, the blade kissing his cheek in a smooth line, no drag at all. That left one of the two in play, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of her yet. Grinning, she darted forward, into his personal space. As he stepped back and brought up his knife arm, she scored her blade against his bare stomach.

"Nine down, eleven to go."

Number ten frowned at her, and eyed his predecessors. Ah, a little cautious. That didn't mean victorious in this endeavor, but it was sweet to see. He went down quickly, a flurry of blows he couldn't counter slicing up his forearms. Eleven and twelve came together, but couldn't predict her motions or coordinate theirs. Natasha kicked out one knee and nearly pirouetted around the larger of the two, then sliced open the other's back. Thirteen likely gave up before he came close to the sparring area, fourteen thought he could intimidate her with his size. She ducked down low a lot with him, and struck against his legs and stomach. Fifteen moved fast, but she was faster; she threw herself to the ground, then flipped herself back onto her feet before running at his retreating back to deliver the strike. Sixteen declared that she would darken the clouds with her woman's ways, and she dispatched him fairly quickly.

Four to go, and Bernhard merely looked thoughtful when he looked at her at all. One of the four thought he could take her down with fists, but she merely shifted her stance and turned her wrist and arm. That allowed her to punch him in the face, the blade sticking out of her fist, and a flick brought the blade against his cheek. Done.

Warrior eighteen wasn't much of a challenge either, and nineteen was stunned when she slashed across his chest, not impressed with his roar. Number twenty involved a bit of a chase, but she deliberately threw herself to the ground in order to kick out his feet from under him. As he fell, Natasha rolled to her feet and scored her blade along his leg.

She was dusty and some of her hair clung to her scalp from sweat, but there were no scratches and she didn't even need to use her hidden blades.

Bernhard looked at her stoically, then clapped. "Well done, Ambassador. You were not boasting of your talents, then."

"No," she agreed. "Amora was dangerous and needed to be stopped. I did what was necessary."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Such is the way of a warrior. I remember Lady Sif behaving in such a way, though she was less likely to move in the manner you do. Broader strokes, less attention to details in the movements of another's body."

"Both of those are important to track down prey." Natasha's lips curled into a slight smile. "Our attack styles are different, and I have a feeling it's because our training was very different." She looked around the training area and caught Bera's horrified yet fascinated expression. "This is for open combat and warfare. I wasn't trained in only that manner of fighting."

"It might be fascinating to see further training for my men. You have an interesting technique."

"I would like the practice," Natasha said, smile still on her face. "Perhaps we could help each other, then. I get sparring practice, you get further training."

"So we are in agreement, then," Bernhard said with a nod.

"I was also wondering if you know of a good armorer that could repair enchanted blades," Natasha said, approaching him after returning her borrowed blades. "I received twin swords as a gift, but they were damaged badly in the battle against Amora."

"Enchanted, you say?"

Natasha nodded. "They cut through nearly every material that barred my path, save the metal forged from the heart of a neutron star." Using their speech pattern was growing easier and easier the longer she stayed here, and it seemed to draw them in a bit more than her usual standoffish behavior and telegraphic style.

Bernhard sucked in a breath. "Ah. Such swords are rare indeed, and I understand why you would want it repaired. You'd need both a talented smith and enchanter or artificer, then, as the spells would have been damaged by such metal." He flashed her a wide smile. "I happen to know of a talented smith who is also an artificer. We can have your swords repaired easily, Lady Natasha. It would be an honor to help you with this."

She returned his smile and gave him a respectful nod. "I truly appreciate this," she told him, not sure what title was appropriate. "I look forward to training with you and your men."

"I look forward to that as well."

Amazingly enough, he even appeared to be telling the truth.

***

"I could probably use the energies of the amulet to create another object," Loki told Bruce when she found him in the kitchen. Her words startled him, and Loki could see that he had the wearied appearance of someone who hadn't slept in quite some time. "It may limit the physical damage I've taken."

"Piggybacking one reaction off of another," Bruce mused, rubbing at his face tiredly. "Sounds feasible, I guess."

"You are tired."

"Yeah, well, only two of us here that can really do the research..."

"Could I be of assistance?"

Bruce paused, and looked at Loki critically. She wasn't sure why she had offered, but surely Natasha would approve of such a thing. It would be some kind of positive accounting on her damned ledger, the thing otherwise drowning in a deluge of red blood.

"Jane mentioned your magic is similar to our science. It's a matter of finding common terms."

"You have studied the first two unravelings."

"And it looked like it contained radiation spikes."

Loki frowned. "The release of the spells, perhaps."

"Why are you being helpful?" Bruce asked. "It's not your thing." He was still mild mannered in his speech, but Loki was certain his mind was whirring with possibilities.

"The Captain was correct. Doing something is preferable to nothing."

Bruce seemed thoughtful, but said nothing. She was fairly comfortable with silence, so Loki didn't fill the ensuing quiet with meaningless words. Bruce sipped his coffee and ate another bite of his sandwich. Thinking he wouldn't speak anymore, Loki went to peruse options for food.

"What did you used to do?" Bruce asked.

Loki didn't bother pretending to misunderstand his meaning. "Studied. Trained." She also plotted, but that went without saying. Alas, there were no plots she was currently trying to work on, more was the pity.

"How is that different from what you do now?"

She didn't feel trapped before. There hadn't been the threat of black chains before.

Unable to give him those reasons, Loki shrugged. "It is. I don't have Yggdrasil to fall back on."

"Fall back on?"

"The energies of the Tree are revitalizing." Loki considered admitting that _seidr_ was potentially physically and mentally devastating if she cast too many difficult spells. But that could possibly be used against her, so she remained silent.

He was no fool, however. "So if you had unraveled the amulet while next to Yggdrasil, you wouldn't have had a seizure."

Loki nodded. "It is an ancient artifact, with powerful arcane spells. It feels... unique. Not crafted by a caster I am familiar with." This was all true, and was said in delicate balance – she didn't want to appear weak here, yet wanted to stress the difficulty of the task she had taken on voluntarily. That surely would be marks in her favor when Natasha returned.

"So what could you make?"

"The Captain felt defensive measures would be best. Armor or shields capable of repulsing magical damage."

Bruce thought about that for a moment, chewing slowly. "Yeah. We don't have defenses against that sort of thing."

She had known that when she arrived with the Chitauri nearly three years ago. It must count for something that she hadn't actually used magic against them. The spells she'd used were minor, mere distraction. Lives had been lost, of course, nameless and faceless numbers. Natasha wouldn't forgive her for those, and would expect her to atone for them. Loki didn't understand her attachment to the concept of innocents; innocent lives were merely victims waiting to happen, souls that could be turned to any purpose.

Loki found leftovers in the fridge and tried to remember the sequence to reheat it. Midgardian technology seemed so backward sometimes, but she did finally get it to warm up.

"You're not comfortable here," Bruce commented, watching her move stiffly around the kitchen area as she searched for utensils.

"This is not home."

"Is there any place that is?"

She managed not to scowl at him or snarl statements she might regret. "I have locales to retreat to, if need be."

"But that's not home," Bruce said mildly.

He had been a wanderer before Natasha brought him there, Loki recalled. Clint had known all the names of scientists they would call in to study the Tesseract or Loki's staff, so she had known about Bruce's beastly side. Since her arrival at Avengers Tower, she hadn't seen it once. As far as she was concerned, it was simply hiding, biding its time. She was resolved not to provoke the beast, not wanting to feel its wrath again, but at the same time couldn't help but feel intrigued by the concept of the beast beneath Bruce's skin. Was it like Loki's own rage, or a completely separate entity? She didn't want to ask and betray her interest.

"It's an uncomfortable topic, isn't it?" Bruce asked when Loki remained silent.

"I'm eating," she snapped, unable to stop herself.

Bruce nodded, then started to eat his sandwich again. Silence didn't seem to bother him either, even uneasy silence. Loki was sure Steve would have told the others about the death sentence she had waiting for her in Asgard.

Staying here was better than death, but it wasn't a situation that Loki enjoyed being in. She hoped Natasha would return to the tower soon.

***

Bera was aghast at Natasha's training with the other warriors. "But! Your reputation!" she cried, wringing her hands. "Oh, the ladies at court will not accept you, not speak of you kindly any longer. You see how little they regard Lady Sif, and she is a good soul."

"Want me to train you?" Natasha offered. She suppressed a smile at Bera's startled expression; it was clear that she wanted to say yes, but was afraid to. "It would give me more time to train, away from the warrior compound, if that bothers you."

"But the knives..."

"Hand to hand," Natasha said with a shrug. "It's good to know anyway, for self-defense. Some of the men on Asgard don't strike me as the kind to take no for an answer."

Her expression flickered, growing dark for a moment before the servile mask returned. "No, my lady, sometimes they do not."

"Has any of them harmed you?" she asked, voice gentle and almost lulling.

"No," Bera said quickly. "I haven't been in those areas."

"So you know of women that have."

"It's..." She looked down at her clasped hands. "Our wishes don't matter, Natasha. We're just serving staff. Our only function is to serve the jarls however they need."

Natasha frowned. "So would training with me only serve _my_ need? Or is it something you honestly don't want to do?"

Bera blinked in surprise. "I don't think I could move as you do."

"That doesn't answer my question."

At first she looked down, then she looked up at Natasha with an earnest expression. "It isn't seemly, you know this. I shouldn't want to learn what you know. It isn't proper. But..." Bera bit her lip. "But if it would keep me safe..."

"It will help." Natasha had a fierce expression on her face. "There are always those that would exploit people they think are weaker than they are. You saw some of those warriors. They thought they could bully me just because they were taller or bigger or male."

Bera sat on the edge of Natasha's bed, a familiar gesture she usually wasn't comfortable making. "It was actually thrilling to watch you defeat them." She saw Natasha's proud smile. "Is it always that way?"

"Can be, if I'm showing up a selfish asshole." Natasha laughed along with Bera. "Come on, I'll show you a few easy things right now. How to get out of grabs so you can run. The important thing isn't always fighting. It's just as important to know when _not_ to fight, too."

Fascinated, Bera watched with wide eyes as Natasha went over a simple one handed wrist grab and then a two handed fist grab. She giggled nervously a few times, but soon became used to the idea of twisting out of Natasha's grip. "This is simple," she declared after a while. "I thought... Well, I suppose I thought that fighting would mean I have to look like those warriors do."

"Physiologically impossible, I'm sure," Natasha replied dryly. "The thing about self-defense is that you don't advertise you can do it. You just do it when you need to."

"But you talk about it."

"It's one of the reasons I was chosen as an Ambassador. No point in hiding it. Plus, I'm from Midgard. It's not looked down upon as much as here."

"So it still is, there."

Natasha nodded. "I generally tend to play into peoples' perceptions of me as long as it's convenient to do so." She shrugged and then started to take off her blouse. Bera's eyes goggled at the knives strapped to her forearm. Natasha looked from her expression to the knives. "Oh. Yeah. Those. The warriors never said I couldn't use them, but I didn't need to."

"They didn't know they were there."

"They never asked," Natasha said simply.

Bera was startled to laughter, and covered her mouth to muffle the sound. "I don't think you would have told them."

With a sly smile, Natasha replied "They would have found out if I needed to use them. But they simply weren't that good."

"But you're going to train them to be."

"Oh, that will take years if they're patient enough. Most of them didn't seem that way."

"It's considered a woman's virtue."

"Well, I can be patient enough to teach you self-defense."

Bera leapt to her feet, a pleased flush in her cheeks. "And if I teach it to some others I know..."

"How else will you be sure you've learned the moves properly?" Natasha asked archly. She then smiled to soften the statement, but Bera was already clapping her hands like a delighted child and hurrying to curtsy before leaving. Natasha waited until she left before laughing and stripping the rest of the way. She could handle the rest of her toilette and setting up a scented bath. There. Between teaching Bera a few simple moves and sparring with the warriors, that would take up a good part of her days that would otherwise be empty. Most of the society ladies were expected to do embroidery, weaving, painting, learning to play an instrument or dancing. Natasha had no interest in those things, though she had memories that the Red Room had implanted. One of those lifetimes had been a ballerina, another had been a painter and art critic. She would be able to make her way through any conversation those vapid ladies threw at her.

She still hadn't identified the lady from her first dinner that seemed to appreciate her fighting skill. Considering the fact that most noble ladies had no identity of their own, Natasha was sure she would find the woman eventually.

***  
***


	5. Alone In A Crowd

Weeks and parties seemed to continue in an indefinite cycle. Natasha alleviated the boredom with the sparring in the warriors' training ground, and meeting Bernhard's artificer. Maeginbiorn was a karl of some worth and finance, and could have possibly pushed to become a jarl if he had wanted to. Maeginbiorn loved his work, however, and didn't want to leave his blacksmithing shop. Natasha didn't blame him one bit, and was fascinated by the way he examined the twin swords Loki had given her. "I know these," he said, running his fingers over every edged rune that had been etched into the blade. "I helped to make them for the banished prince."

"That's who gave these to me."

The blacksmith nodded thoughtfully. "To do a proper repair, I'll need to strip off the prior spell work, reforge the blade and then layer then on again. It will take me at least through the next Festival or two."

Natasha shrugged. "As long as the blades are sharp and the enchantments work again." She paused. "How can I compensate for your efforts, Sir Maeginbiorn?" she asked, taking a guess at the title she should use.

He actually laughed, a good natured and deep throated belly laugh. "Master or Smith, Lady Ambassador. I don't stand on such ceremonies here. Master Bernhard's no Lord neither, I hope you didn't call him such on the field."

"I didn't. I wasn't sure what to call him."

Maeginbiorn chuckled and ran his hands over the blades again. "I could submit payment to the royal house, Lady Ambassador. All the crafts houses know of those orders." He looked up at her with an open and curious expression. "Is it true the banished prince attacked your realm as well as ours?"

"He did."

"So how did you come by these swords? I'm sure there's a tale to tell."

"I'm not sure," Natasha admitted. "I manipulated him and I confuse him. He tricked me and tried to discredit me, but it didn't destroy my reputation."

He chuckled again. Natasha was reminded of Clint, in a way; usually he was the lighthearted one between the two of them, determined not to be so dour and pessimistic. That made Natasha miss Avengers Tower and some of her fellow SHIELD agents. "I see our king chose an interesting Ambassador. There have been other changes in the realm recently, but I suppose they haven't been as bad as predicted."

"Oh? What changes?"

"Borders have been closed for a long time. Since the war. Seems like now they're opening up, and the Crown Prince is helping Vanaheim. They haven't got warriors like ours."

"Somehow, I doubt any other realm has warriors like yours."

Maeginbiorn laughed and nodded. "Too right. I'll fix these, Lady Ambassador. And I'll make a matching dagger, sheaths..."

"Oh, no, it's not necessary," Natasha began, holding up her hands.

"I know that. I just enjoy making them, and I'd rather make such things for those that appreciate the work involved." Indeed, Maeginbiorn looked excited as he planned what he wanted to make for her, and rubbed his hands together. "Oh, yes, I have a design I've wanted to try to make for some time, but none of the royal house needed new weapons. But you are new, and I can tell, you appreciate fine work."

"Not to mention I'm backed by the bottomless royal coffers?" Natasha guessed.

He laughed again. "It helps, of course. Some of my designs are rather costly."

"When should I stop by to check on the weapons?"

"I'll send a messenger to the palace. No need to rush perfection, hm?"

Natasha laughed along with him and agreed before heading back to the palace.

***

Loki sat in the middle of the lab she was assigned to work in, frowning at the floor. She had braided her hair so that it hung down her back instead of in her face. Corded bracelets had been easy enough to weave, working sigils into the knots. It had seemed easier to use bracelets as talismans than rings or amulets; the men of the Avengers didn't seem to be the type to wear them, and they would likely just recall her male form hunting down such things for Natasha. The sigils were mostly safety and protection spells, but they were fairly lightweight. Good enough for most of the mortal mages, perhaps, but not those of at least Stephen Strange's or Marissa Tourney's caliber. Even those mages carried some power of note.

"That looks... entirely different from what you did with the necklace thingy."

Managing not to groan, Loki looked up at Tony Stark entering the lab. "Do you always carry that device with you?" she asked, hiding most of her irritation.

"Checking for gamma radiation and lots of other things that tend to happen when you're doing your magic thing."

"I haven't worked the _seidr_ into these. It's strictly runic spells at the moment, but I am not sure if more work will be necessary."

"It took you like three weeks to make those. You do realize they're a buck fifty at a sidewalk stall down in Chinatown?"

Loki glowered at him, and was gratified when he seemed taken aback. "Spells were worked into every thread, every braided strand, you ignorant coddlebin."

Tony blinked. "Coddlebin? What the hell's a coddlebin?"

"I believe you would refer to it as a refuse pile," Loki said through grit teeth. Why was she bothering with these charms for ungrateful Midgardian idiots?

Oh, yes. She had nothing else to do with these inescapably long days. The others had researches or fighting for justice or some rot like that. She had her mostly empty suite across from Natasha's suite, this mostly empty lab and nothing else to do. There was nothing but time, nothing to fill it with but inane tasks so trivial that initiates could even do them. But it kept her hands busy and her mind full of protection runes rather than death plots, so she supposed Natasha would approve of such business.

"Did you just call me a pile of shit?"

"In much better language, yes."

He laughed, as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. "Wow. Okay, then. It's almost like reading Shakespeare again. You know the man wrote such filthy, filthy things into his poems and plays? Made literature classes much less boring."

"Why are you here?"

"Well, it was three weeks of no radioactivity. I figured I would check up on you."

Loki scowled deeply at him. "I require no such monitoring. Your disembodied manservant can perform such a menial task for you."

"You mean JARVIS, don't you?"

"Unless you have other disembodied manservants?"

Tony rolled his eyes and looked at the Starkpad in his hand. "Listen. You were saying before that you could transfer the magical mojo from one item to another. All signals have been stable for the past three weeks. You could try it if you wanted to."

Loki narrowed her eyes at Tony. Was this a trap of some kind? "Why would you offer me this?"

"Hey, you mentioned it before. If you don't need to, that's a different story."

Frowning, Loki looked down at the bracelets. "It depends on the level of protection you wish me to confer upon these. Most practitioners on this realm should be stopped with these."

"But not all."

"Even a few of the practitioners are capable of real magic," Loki said in dry tones. "The unraveling could fuel higher order protection spells that could protect against those."

"Would it protect us against you?"

Loki looked up at him, gaze assessing. "Should I be plotting against you, then?"

"You mean you're not? Even if Natasha isn't here?"

"What do you mean?"

Tony's expression hardened. "You've been after her for two years now, Loki." Oh, this had to be serious if he wasn't trying to use some sort of derogatory nickname. "Right now, you've got nowhere else to go, and your personal savior isn't here to defend you."

"I don't need defending," Loki snarled.

"On the contrary, you absolutely need defending. You betrayed your own family—"

"They are not my blood," she raged, lips drawn back in anger. "I was nothing but a relic, to be locked away and used when they saw fit, ridiculed and shunned otherwise. They are _not_ my family, not my people!"

"—and you came here with your magic stick and alien army. Do you know how many people died in New York because of that? Do you even fucking care?"

"And what of you, Tony Stark? Your name in the air, smiling down like a benevolent master, hoping to recapture your soul after your warmongering days... Who are you to judge me?"

"Who am I? I'm your landlord, lady. You're living in my house, eating my food, waiting for my friend to come back and wipe off that lost puppy look on your face. So you give me an answer, Loki. If you put more layers of protection on them, will those things protect us from you?"

She looked at him in utter loathing, but he was used to such looks. Finally, she grit her teeth and replied "It could." There seemed to be no other way to get to the amulet than this now, not without potentially breaking one of Natasha's rules about harming her friends.

"Then fine, let's go get your woo-woo crap going down."

Loki scooped up the bracelets and followed Tony through the maze of hallways until they reached the lab that Bruce used to analyze the ring and amulet. She hated that she was beholden to this _mortal_ in any way, shape or form, and imagined the ways she could harm him in retaliation. Her frost giant nature leant itself very well to cold and frost spells, and she could always freeze his blood slowly in his veins. It would be a torturous death, ice crystals shredding his organs from the inside out. She could make him drown in his own blood, make his eyes explode or liquefy his brains. She could take a knife to his skin and pare it away inch by inch, or hang him upside down by his toes and let his blood drip down to the floor...

Bruce was very calm, and working on some sort of formulae on his desk. The amulet was in a vise in the center of the lab, all sorts of instruments in a ring around it. Loki didn't know or care what they did, but knew that somehow it was meant to keep track of the unraveling and casting spells. She would have to be very clever in siphoning off power into her own body as well as the bracelets she had made.

Good thing she was clever indeed.

"How much physical space do you think you'll need?" he asked, as if Loki glaring at Tony plotting his death was an everyday occurrence. Considering his arrogance, it may have been.

"The current arrangement may suit," Loki said. "I would like a chair, however. The last unraveling had been... draining. I'll be doing twice the work as last time, and would not want to be unduly concerned with falling."

"Dude, just say you want a chair," Tony snarked, looking up from his Starkpad. "Seriously, the flowery speech is just unnecessary."

Loki scowled in his direction as Bruce simply sighed. "Here, I'll give you mine," Bruce said, wheeling over his chair. "I might be walking around between sensors anyway."

"My thanks," Loki murmured, taking hold of the chair and delicately sitting down. Calling him by name didn't feel comfortable and "Beast" would be rude. He seemed to be her ally in this endeavor, so she could ill afford to have him turn away from her.

Spreading the bracelets on the workbench in front of her, she made a ring around the vise holding the amulet. The Essine Ruby seemed too deceptively mundane in such a setting, but she knew better. Opening her senses, she could feel the power in the object, just waiting to be tapped and used. Most magical items after a time grew resentful at idleness. They were made to be used, not simply admired at a distance. Loki could almost feel its restlessness now that its pocket universe was gone and the ruby held no practical function.

Deciding on interwoven shield and reflection spells for the bracelets, she took hold of the edge of one spell on the amulet and gave it an experimental tug. The amulet pulled back harder than she expected it to, making her jerk in the chair.

"Hey!" Tony said, looking at the radiation spikes on his transparent screen. Bruce was on the opposite side of the room, and looked up in concern.

"A testing. It's going to be a resistant spell," Loki said, staring at the ruby as if it had insulted her personally. The ruby seemed to pulse in response, as if an inanimate object could laugh. "This will be... _interesting,_ then," she murmured, before setting her concentration back on the ruby. It pulsed again, making Tony click his tongue against the roof of his mouth in concern, but that was easy enough to ignore. "Don't stop me once I've started. I don't know what will happen if my concentration on this wavers."

It was like holding the Tesseract, really, and Loki knew how she had handled that. Closing her eyes to blot out unnecessary input, she felt along the edges of the ruby's spells again. She started picking at the looser edge, pulling and unweaving its _seidr_ slowly and painfully, winding it around and through her own essence before weaving the combined spells over the bracelets she had made. That made it easier to control the wild energy as well as siphon off a good bit of it into herself without making it too obvious. Her own natural magic served as a balance, keeping her from getting too overwhelmed with the ancient magic involved. At times her energy seemed to flag, but she thought of Natasha's pleased expression or the vast darkness of space between the branches of Yggdrasil.

Ah, it was runic magic as well as _seidr,_ the runes requiring that they be unraveled in a specific order. Silly object. Of course Loki knew the runes well, knew how to pull it all apart and weave it again in a different order. Of course she could feel the thrum of power flowing through her, filling the void inside her chest, making her feel powerful and important, master of her own destiny, lord over all the middling mortals of this forsaken realm. Time held no meaning, and she could reorder the entire universe as she wished. She could rule Asgard, could decimate its royal and noble houses, upturn the millennia of neglect and decay inherent in its glittering façade, set everything on its end and remake all of history.

Only... Only if she did that, there would be no reason to meet Natasha. There would be no conflict with Thor, Odin or Frigga. She could truly be blood of that house, accepted even with knowledge of the _seidr,_ could take the place she had been bred for. Loki would never have turned to female form, but remained male. Some noblewoman of appropriate birth would be his bride and someday his queen. Midgard would have been the stuff of old tales, the place no Asgardian would want to go to. Natasha might not have even been born, or would not have ended up with the training she had. Or if she did, perhaps there would be no call for her to join with the Avengers at all. They only formed to battle Loki and the Chitauri.

Ah, this was why the _spá_ could be so difficult to work with!

Loki grit her teeth and tightened her focus on the weaving. If she stumbled and botched the attempt, she wasn't sure if it would destroy the bracelets she had already spent the past three weeks making. She was vaguely aware that her breath was stuttering in her chest, and her mouth was dry, but she couldn't stop.

The last of the spell was trying to resist her unraveling, so she squeezed her eyes tighter and tried to metaphorically pick it apart little by little. Her concentration was holding, at least, and the recalcitrant amulet couldn't resist her for very long. She was stubborn that way, and she _would_ have its magic for her own.

Once the last of the weaving was done, Loki slumped forward, her forehead hitting the workbench. She was _exhausted,_ yet triumphant. It was _done,_ both the unraveling and the reweaving, and she could feel the thrum of power settling inside the shell of her body rather comfortably. No seizures or jerking of her limbs this time.

Asgardians always considered women to be weak, in need of protection and guidelines, unable to handle difficult tasks on their own. Loki had never thought otherwise growing up, despite evidence to the contrary in his mot—Frigga, or Sif, or now Natasha. But being female also meant that less effort had to be spent in maintaining a façade of infallibility. That was so exhausting, but it was also unsettling that these strangers understood truths about her without having to be explicitly told. Natasha wouldn't have said anything, she was sure of it. Natasha held onto her secrets so tightly, after all. Perhaps Clint or Steve, but not Tony or Bruce.

It was dark in the lab, overhead lights dim and the sensors still charting their nonsensical peaks and valleys. Loki frowned, and tried to push herself upright. Norns, she felt so _weak,_ but it didn't seem to be a byproduct of this physical form. Her mouth was utterly dry, and she looked around the laboratory warily.

"Where is everyone?" she managed to croak.

"It is four am," JARVIS announced overhead. "You have been at this project for exactly thirty-three hours and forty-one minutes. By your vital signs, it would appear that nourishment would be most helpful. Sir usually requires a specific blend of foods when he works for such long hours at once." The AI actually sounded _helpful,_ which made Loki frown.

"Would I be able to make sense of the devices to make such a blend?"

"I can provide direction," JARVIS replied.

"Well, then," Loki said, her voice scratchy. Her legs didn't wobble beneath her too much when she stood, so resting in the chair and using herself as a focusing device had been a very clever idea after all. "Let's see if I can assemble it."

***

Bracelets were given to Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers and Clint Barton. Tony claimed the fifth one for Pepper when she arrived in time for dinner, as Natasha was in Asgard and they had all seen that spells hadn't been able to affect her. Hel's gift invalidated most offensive spells against her, so Tony stated that she didn't need that extra protection. Pepper had rolled her eyes at dinner when he offered up his reasoning, and eyed Loki curiously. They hadn't introduced her, so she didn't know who the brunette was at the table. "So what's your role in all of this?" she asked, looking at the woven bracelet on her wrist.

"I made those," Loki replied, reluctant to reveal who she was. She was dressed in loose layers, the closest she could come to familiar Asgardian styles with Midgard clothing. "They will prevent the worst of the offensive spells that practitioners would be able to cast on this realm, keeping you safe."

Pepper nodded slowly as she sipped her wine. "You're from Asgard."

"At one time."

"I take it you don't want to go back? Otherwise you would've left with Natasha."

Loki's gut twisted. Damn her. She didn't want to be reminded of her expulsion from the place she had grown up. She was a failure, always a failure, unable to redeem herself. As a woman she didn't necessarily have to keep her defenses up, but it rankled when the Avengers could see right through her.

"I have been... working on other things." Loki looked down at her plate and continued to eat, hoping that would stave off further questions.

She did seem to take the hint, and started talking with Tony and Bruce about some of the latest ideas coming out of the research division of Stark Industries. Clint left the dinner table as soon as he could, and Loki assumed that it was because of her presence. At times he could tolerate her, but at other times he avoided her at all costs. That left Steve Rogers, who was unfailingly polite and gentlemanly, but could also handle the other Avengers with a firm hand. Because he was the one that was around her the most, Loki often worried that he would find fault with her and feel she had broken one of Natasha's rules.

Slipping away after dinner, she left the others in the common room to watch a movie. Clint had even returned, ignoring Loki as if she didn't exist. It stung more than she wanted to admit. Loki could always retreat to her suite, but it was the usual place she retreated to. The outer room was empty, and the bedroom was full of bookshelves. She had a full sized bed and small desk, but the rest of the space was devoted to her books, scrolls and ancient tomes that Natasha had helped to bring from two of her hideaways along Yggdrasil. Loki had spent most of her time studying them when not working on the bracelets; her sleep was too disrupted by nightmares and longing for Natasha, as much as she would never admit it.

No, her own suite was far too lonely tonight. Everyone else had someone to talk to. She was the one alone in this realm.

Instead, Loki turned and headed into Natasha's suite. She was overwhelmed by the presence and scent of Natasha, even though she had been gone for nearly three months. Remembering that JARVIS was like Tony's Heimdall, she put up a magic shield to block sensors. Loki went into Natasha's bedroom and curled up on her bed.

She was pathetic. Some goddess she made, lying in a mortal's bed, pining for her. Not that she would ever admit such a thing to Natasha, but Loki _missed_ her. She was a challenge, and Loki didn't feel so lost around her. Natasha was mortal, for all of Hel's gifts, and had no power other than the control Loki willingly gave her. Yet she didn't yield to despair, or perhaps not for long if she did. Loki didn't know how to do that, and it made her feel weak.

Loki found herself crying, choking on her emotions. She buried her face in Natasha's pillow and breathed in deeply. How did it still smell like her after all this time? Loki was _lonely,_ and she didn't know how to make that feeling go away.

She was lonely, so obviously lonely, and there was the simmering rage in her blood that wouldn't let her rest. She was a _god,_ yet here she cowered in a mortal's bed like a mewling child. Loki cried out in her rage and loneliness, breathing in Natasha's scent. She wanted her _so much,_ but Natasha wasn't there and Loki had no way to contact her. Twisting in Natasha's bed, she recalled the last time they were together. She had pressed her face into the pillow, had rubbed her breasts against the bed, had wanted Natasha to such a frightening extent. Knowing she was about to leave had added a desperate edge to that time, but it hadn't been enough. It would never be enough. For all that Hel's gift was useful, Natasha was still mortal. Even an extended human lifetime was shorter than an Asgardian's. Or a Jotun's.

Still sobbing, Loki grasped her clothing and loosened it enough to snake a hand between her thighs. Surrounded by Natasha's scent, it was too easy to pretend her fingers were Natasha's. Her breathing was harsh and tortured as she sought her clit, wanting _something_ to feel closer to Natasha. Loki was _pathetic,_ but she couldn't care in that moment. She was _weak,_ too exhausted to pretend she was heartless and cruel, too spent to keep fighting and maintain her façade. With the spells up, no one would be able to see, no one would know but her.

 _Natasha,_ Loki thought, eyes squeezed tight. It wasn't her own fingers but Natasha stroking her, Natasha who cared for her. Maybe Natasha could even love her; why else give Loki a ledger to redeem herself? Why else save her from Amora?

Her fingers moved quick and sure, her thoughts a desperate array of _Natasha, Natasha, Natasha,_ until she came. But no, she felt empty still, gaping wide open, chest aching, and fondling herself didn't help. It wasn't Natasha, just a single lonely god fucking herself with her fingers, confused and aching and awful, sobbing because he'd already destroyed everything he touched. He—She— _She_ right now, by the Norns. But this wasn't any better. She wasn't any safer, wasn't as protected as thought she would be.

Desperately, Loki thrust her fingers into her slit, heel of her hand pressing almost uncomfortably against her clit. It didn't feel like Natasha in the slightest, and Loki cried out in frustration. She twisted on the bed, grasping the blankets. Keeping Natasha's pillow at her face, Loki bunched the blankets between her clothed thighs and tried to jerk and push her hips to get enough friction. She humped the blankets until she came, a shiver of guilty pleasure running through her.

Loki sobbed again, punching the bed over and over and over until completely exhausted. She understood why Natasha couldn't love. It hurt too much, it compromised too much. But Loki had gotten compromised without realizing it, without meaning to be. Her fate was inextricably bound to Natasha's now.

Clutching Natasha's pillow, Loki cried herself to sleep.

***

"You look awful."

Loki was badly startled, and stared at Steve with large eyes. "Don't _do_ that!" she cried.

"Well, when you put up blocking spells, we're gonna hang out to see why." Steve looked at Loki's disheveled form, blotchy complexion and red rimmed eyes critically. "I could guess, but you could've had a good cry in your own room, too. Didn't have to be Tash's room."

"Mine is too empty," Loki admitted before clamping her lips shut. Why couldn't she come up with a good lie at a time like this?

"You don't leave the tower either," Steve commented. He thought for a moment, then nodded toward Loki's door. "Wash up and change to go out. Shirt 'n jeans like me is fine, nothing fancy," Steve instructed.

"Where would you take me?" Loki asked, brows furrowed in confusion. Why would Steve appear to be friendly?

Then again, what option for companionship did she have? Clint didn't like her and barely tolerated being in the same room with her most of the time. Tony was a braying, abrasive asshole on a good day. Bruce focused on his studies and calm exterior, so he wouldn't have too much time for Loki outside studying the _seidr._ That left Steve, perennial good man and leader of the group. He might think occupying her was an honorable thing to do.

"I'm gonna bring you out where I usually go on my afternoons off. You need something to do other than mope and feel sorry for yourself. It's gone on too long."

Loki bristled. "You dare? I am a _god!"_

"Who's got nothing and nobody else but us," Steve pointed out flatly. "You've been moping for way too long."

To add insult to injury, Loki couldn't even stare him down. He was right, of course, and she slunk into her room to shower and change. It wasn't as if she had better plans for the afternoon, she told herself. She was doing him a favor.

En route, Steve asked Loki what name she wanted to use. At a loss, she chose Laurel again. That made her recall Natasha and the mission in Austria, heightening the lonely feeling. She couldn't help but listen to Steve describing Great Depression era New York in contrast to its current state, which led him to mention what it was like to grow up sickly and hungry. On some level, Loki was horrified; she found herself explaining life with two hundred chefs, large retinues of personal body servants and courtiers in the palace whose sole purpose was to cater to royal whims. Loki never been cold or hungry until—She didn't speak of it, refused to even think of it, and Steve tactfully didn't ask for details. He was actually a very good listener, and it was almost like talking to Natasha. Perhaps that was why the two were good friends.

Their destination was a homeless shelter in Hell's Kitchen. Loki was _horrified_ by the dirty, unwashed homeless people that were there, or the families that tried to stay together despite their circumstances. Loki couldn't stand being there with Steve. "These... _people,"_ she tried to hiss at him, looking for a way to escape.

"Need help," Steve told her cheerfully. "Not everyone had the opportunities you did. Not to mention, even though it was three years ago, some people never recovered after the Battle of New York. This is a way to give back."

"What are you talking about?"

"People died that day. Buildings destroyed. Massive damage. The city looks good again, but the price of that is having more places like this exist."

"Sure they could do something about their circumstances."

"If they could, they wouldn't be here."

There was really no answer for that. Loki gave out food and cleaned areas as Steve or the shelter staff directed. Some of the children wanted to talk to her or play games, which she found unsettling. She had no idea what to do with young mortal children, and staff simply advised her to play if she wanted to. Steve seemed overly pleased by the idea, and the children seemed to want to play with blocks or dolls or simply run about underfoot. Had Loki ever been young like this? She couldn't remember play like this, only study and training, but surely going along with this plan would please Natasha when she returned. Surely _someone_ would look kindly on her. They might not forgive her innumerable sins, but this was _something_ positive in her ledger, something that could count in her favor.

"I do this just about every afternoon I'm free," Steve said as they walked back to the Avengers Tower. "It's a way to give back and help, you know? For all that things changed since I was a kid, some stuff like this is the same."

Loki gaped. "How do you stand it?"

"I remember what it was like to be poor, taking odd jobs to help out." Steve was quiet, memories of past discomforts evident in his stance as he walked. "Just 'cause they're poor doesn't mean they don't still deserve dignity and respect. They're _people,_ and need help to get back on their feet. I've got more than what I need, so I help."

Steve was practically a saint. That had to be it. Loki didn't understand that mentality at all.

"What are some of the things your parents taught you growing up?" Steve asked, clearly trying to make Loki understand his point of view.

"I was a prince of the realm and respected as such," Loki responded immediately. At Steve's unimpressed look, Loki distinctly remembered how he had fought back in Stuttgart, how the old man had refused to bow before him, saying he was like other men. With a sigh, Loki began to sulkily answer the question. "Be stronger than my enemies. Master the _seidr._ If I can't be stronger, at least be cleverer and don't get caught."

"Explains a lot, don't you think?"

"What are you talking about?" Loki demanded, brows furrowed in confusion.

"I only had my Ma growing up," Steve replied. "There was Bucky and his family, of course, we were practically like brothers. But Ma always stressed that I had to grow up to be a good man, that I had to do better than she did in life. And she was a nurse."

Loki frowned at him. "So what does that mean?"

"Your parents taught you to be selfish. Mine taught me to be selfless. That's why this is so hard for you. That's why you only think in terms of who you can dominate or use." Loki managed not to gape at how simplistic that sounded. "But the world doesn't work that way. Life's a give and take, and there's no point if you don't have anybody in your corner."

She wanted to ask why Steve thought Loki didn't have anyone, but that was a silly question. She had driven everyone else away and had nothing left to her name but the _seidr,_ and even that was a double edged sword. The populace around her didn't know who she was, but if she had still been in her male form, no doubt they would swarm. Even powerless beings could band together to fight a common enemy, and she had seen that for herself. She couldn't stop Thanos or the Other when in the Void—

Steve stopped walking abruptly, and Loki looked at him warily, aware that her entire body was tense and poised to strike. "Do you ever just stop? No planning, no lies, no trickery?"

"Only with Natasha," Loki admitted. She was so tired, exhausted down to the bottom of her poisoned soul. By the Tree, she _needed_ Natasha, but the spy didn't need her at all.

Looking almost sad, Steve nodded absently. "C'mon, then. Let's get back."

Not having anywhere else to go, Loki followed him.

***

Natasha hadn't been terribly surprised by Odin summoning her for a discussion. Frigga likely didn't want to hear more of what Natasha had to say, and didn't want to take on responsibility in her part of Loki's madness. Well, fine, that was a bit of a harsh term for it. But really, what did they expect when they taught him that he had to be better than everyone else then reveal him to be the same species as the monsters he was trained to despise?

It wasn't the massive throne room that Natasha was directed to but a small study. It was probably attached to one of Odin's studies, if the piles of books were any indication, and it reminded her of Loki's hideaways with the scrolls and books in towering heaps. She ruthlessly tamped down on that, not wanting to feel any fondness for the trickster in a place like this. Emotions were traps, weapons with barbs in the hilt. She knew what loving someone could do, the pain it could cause, and she was never going to let that happen to her again. Caring was different, friendships were different, family was different. Romantic love? _Trap._

"To what do I owe this honor?" she asked, seeing Odin poring over a map. He was dressed in fine silver and gold brocade garments, no hint of armor. This was an informal meeting, then.

"You have been living in Asgard for some time now," Odin said, putting weights on the edges of the map he was looking at. When he turned and beckoned for her to come closer, Natasha could see that it was a map of Asgard. Several areas in the outskirts had been marked off with runes and symbols. She had no idea what it meant or what the significance of the red and blank inks were, but assumed he wasn't asking for her input.

"It's a beautiful realm," Natasha said when he fell silent. Sooner or later he would say what was on his mind, and she had no difficulty tolerating silences, even uncomfortable ones.

Odin nodded absently, and she could only guess that he wasn't happy with the fact that she wasn't giving him an opportunity to say whatever it was he wanted to say. That he needed an opening meant it had to be unpleasant, and he wanted to tell himself later he had been provoked into having the conversation.

Which meant it was about Loki. There was no such discomfort when speaking of Thor.

"I understand you've been learning about our realm, our ways and our culture." Natasha nodded, finding speech unnecessary. Odin wasn't looking at her, however, but at a point somewhere to the left of her. _Coward._ "No contact with Midgard in that time."

"Is there anything in particular you were concerned about?" she asked innocently.

His eye swiveled to take in her pleasantly neutral expression. "Yes." He frowned deeply at her when she remained silent, waiting for him to speak. "My son."

"You mean Loki."

Nodding heavily, Odin looked at Natasha. "I know I leave the realms in capable hands. Thor aids Midgard with their endeavors, as he now aids Vanaheim." He made a sweeping gesture over the map of Asgard. "Upon his return, Thor will govern the restless districts here, restore the peace and order within the Nine Realms as is his birthright." Odin's arm fell to his side. "But Loki has no place here any longer. He has been far too quiet of late."

Because he was now a she, though Natasha had no intention of telling Odin that. As far as he was concerned, he'd washed his hands of the Loki problem the moment he put in the execution orders and foisted the sociopath onto her to fix. Natasha looked at him evenly, expression flat and eyes assessing. "Did you expect any different? You want him dead."

"His crimes require punishment, you must see that," Odin said, chin lifting a notch. She could hear the chill tones in his voice and dismissed them as irrelevant. _He_ needed _her,_ as much as he might loathe that fact.

"Shall we count them?" Natasha asked in her driest voice, startling him. "At least the crimes that I know of," she allowed after a moment. "There's the deaths he caused while fighting for Asgard, though I don't think that would count against him as far as any court here is concerned. He led a massacre of the Jotnar that nearly obliterated the entire race. Again, I gather this wouldn't trouble the aristocracy overmuch. He commits treason on Asgard and chooses to fall into the Void rather than face justice here. Then he murders in the name of the Other and Thanos – not that he's told me outright, of course, but I can read between the lines very well from what he hasn't said about that time—and led the Chitauri to Earth after killing at least eighty people just because they got in his way. The death toll in the Battle of New York is set at just under seventeen thousand, which is actually rather good, considering eleven million people live on the island of Manhattan alone." When Odin would have interrupted, Natasha's expression turned hard and pitiless, shocking him to silence. "Then he came after me. He's attacked me, violated me, very nearly raped me, attempted to discredit me with the people that I work for, and tried to kill me on several occasions. He's tortured and killed a handful of magical practitioners that I know of, and he's alluded to other crimes on Midgard."

Natasha's gaze turned into a glare. "So tell me, Odin. Which of these crimes of his are you referring to? Which of these did you expect me to ignore?"

"You tried to save him," Odin said, voice even despite his surprise. "You would have spared him pain when the Enchantress tortured him. Is that not a measure of caring for his wellbeing?"

It was, which damned her forever as far as she was concerned. She didn't _want_ to feel that, and didn't want to examine why exactly she would feel anything at all. Her life would be so much easier if all they had was a deal between them, sexual favors to pay for the safety of Earth and the slaking of his bottomless well of anger.

"She was a bigger monster than the one you helped to create," Natasha said flatly.

"You _dare_ speak to me this way?" Odin boomed, fury in his tone. "You are mortal, a guest in my realm, in my _home—"_

"I could have left him there after I killed her," Natasha said flatly, interrupting what likely would turn into a grand tirade of epic proportions. "Or I could have waited until after he died to kill her. It would have solved everyone's problems." She crossed her arms over her chest, giving Odin her best unimpressed look. "But you stand there, expecting me to fix a problem you created, simply because you can't be bothered to do it yourself."

Odin pointed at her, lips curling into a snarl. "You have committed your own crimes, Lady Natasha," he said, the title pronounced as an insult upon his lips.

"Yes, I have," she said, unperturbed. That clearly unsettled him. "I never pretended to be something I wasn't when you asked me to be Ambassador. I never pretended to care about what happened to him."

Her own soul was damned enough as it was, her ledger still balanced toward death and destruction. She wasn't a good woman, not by any measure, but she was _trying_ to be, and that counted for something. There was no absolution for her own crimes, but balance would at least lessen the damage she had done to the world.

"I do not pretend!" Odin boomed. _"He is my son!"_

"When it's convenient, perhaps," Natasha replied with a shrug, her voice soft and even. "If not, then it's easier to shunt him aside to another realm, having someone else take care of the problem. It's easier not to think about his training putting him in the role of scorned outsider, that he was continually in the shadow of a legacy he could never obtain."

"There was no shadow," Odin sneered. "Loki believed what he wished to—"

"Loki was _ergi,"_ Natasha snapped. "We both know what that means. He was continually told what he had to do to succeed, knowing he could never attain it. All the while, there were plans for him behind the scenes, plans he was never told about, so he had nothing to look forward to. Then you let him know he's the monster of all the stories children are told here." She unfolded her arms and spread them wide, encompassing not just the study but all of Asgard. He was so still in front of her, but she could see the tension and anger in his stance. It didn't matter to her; she was unimpressed by his display of temper or authority. "You set him up to be a failure in this realm, tell him he's Jotun and that he's only fit for death. What did you expect him to do? Did you expect him to think you're a savior?"

The look on his face clearly said just that.

"You created a monster you cannot control. He is everything you made him to be. Are you proud?" she asked, scorn in her tone. That made Odin's expression contort into one of fury, but she could ignore that. "No matter what your seers say, I am not here to fix your mistakes. I am not one of your citizens, and I am not a tool you can use however you see it, just as he isn't." And really, wasn't that the terrifying thing for Asgardian nobility? That she didn't give a shit for their tradition and strict roles? "If he crosses the line, I will kill him. Like I told Frigga, he'll thank me for it. I'll be doing him a favor and putting him out of his misery." She looked at Odin with utter contempt. "I'll do what has to be done, because you can't and never could."

"I will have you imprisoned, _mortal."_

The arrogance was familiar, and made her laugh. "And tell your nobility why? That you know full well where Loki is? That you encourage others to do your dirty work? That you aren't as in control of this realm or the others as you want them to think?"

 _"This is my realm!"_ Odin boomed in anger. "You will not mock me or presume to tell me what to do."

"Then fix Loki yourself. Go find him, take out the rage inside of him. Make it so he cares what happens to other people, that innocents matter. Make it so he doesn't think of them as nothing more than means to an end." Her lip curled in derision when Odin merely glared at her. "You can't do that, because you don't even believe that. Your own people are nothing more than numbers, x's on that map," she said, gesturing toward the map he was ignoring. "You can't get compassion from any empty soul any more than you can get blood from a stone." She bared her teeth in a death's head grin. "Trust me, I've tried."

"If he's wronged you so badly, why did you save him? Why are you here?"

"I saved him because I'm not the monster he is or that you are. And I'm here because Director Fury asked me to be. No more, no less." She turned her back to Odin and started walking out of the room. "I owe you nothing, Odin. But you and Loki owe me everything."

No answer was forthcoming, because it was true.

***  
***


	6. Personal Satisfaction

It was a complete surprise for Natasha to enter the grand hall with Bera behind her and see Thor, Sif, Volstagg, Fandral and Hogunn surrounded by other Asgardian warriors. Bera had told her that it was to be a grand and formal celebration, but no explanation had been given with the invitation. The long table was laden for a feast of magnitude; karls in the kitchens must have been set to work as soon as the warriors had all arrived. Thor noticed her first, likely by the red in her hair, and grinned exuberantly in her direction. The others turned, and Sif waved gaily at the sight of her.

"Lady Natasha!" Thor boomed, pleased to see her. "Well met, and in Asgard! I see my father has chosen a well spoken and hard working associate as Ambassador."

"It's good to see you again, Thor." She smiled warmly and gave him a swift hug. Most of the nobles around the ballroom blinked in surprise at the familiarity with which she spoke and touched him. "I've been here about two months now."

"It explains the Asgardian dress," Volstagg said, eyeing her appreciatively. "It's most becoming."

"Thank you," she said graciously. "The battles in Vanaheim went well, then?"

"Well indeed," Hogun said with a nod. He looked over at the other warriors. "Others may be interested in carousing further to celebrate, but I hoped to hear about future plans to protect my people before returning home."

"I didn't know you were from Vanaheim," Natasha said, tilting her head slightly to acknowledge the information. "Others here didn't talk about the place very much."

Hogun nodded as if he expected such things. His armor was well worn and showed some battle scars, but otherwise was well cared for. She would place him as a lesser jarl if he carried rank on Asgard. "It is normally a peaceful place. Farmers, craftsmen, artisans... It's a land rich in people and resources, ill prepared for war."

This was possibly the longest speech Natasha had ever heard from him. "I'm sure Thor and the rest will make sure it stays protected."

"Of course." He bowed deeply and formally. "As we have also worked to help secure your world against invaders and betrayers." He nodded toward a noble that Natasha hadn't met yet. "I should speak with one of the martial advisors, my Lady. I hope to speak again."

"Ah, let him speak," Volstagg said, watching Hogun's retreating back. "Let us feast! It has only been a day since the feasting on Vanaheim, and it will be good to be here among friends."

Fandral bowed politely toward Natasha and extended his arm. "Perhaps I could squire you about for the evening, Lady Natasha? We didn't get a chance to discuss many things on our prior sojourn to Midgard."

Natasha took his arm graciously. That seemed to quiet some of the whispering matchmakers in the nobles crowd. "I think you're doing me quite the favor, Fandral."

He followed her line of sight and grinned. "I assure you, my interest in you is as a friend. I believe Thor would have my head if I were to besmirch your honor."

"Assuming I have any to besmirch," she replied archly, making him laugh.

"I'm sure there have been many comments made in poor taste about your tactical skill set," Fandral agreed with a sigh. "Obviously I do not share in that belief, given that Sif is one of my bosom companions."

"It shows you have good taste."

Fandral laughed again as he brought her toward the table. "Oh, I like you."

Natasha grinned at him. "You're far better company than most here," she said, meaning it. She caught a glowering face in the crowd and the noblewoman she had been hoping to meet at some point. "It does seem as though you have your fair share of admirers," she added, looking toward the woman in question, who was staring at them. "Should I retreat and let you be rewarded by all the ladies at court?"

"Is my reputation that obvious?" he asked with a grin. "I wouldn't say it's _all_ the ladies at court, however." He looked in the direction of the glowering noble and his wife. "That is Lord Falki, who aspires to the martial advisory board, and his lady wife, the Lady Gilla. She has always been most reserved, and her eyes do not stray."

"From what I've noticed, that doesn't always stop those at court."

He gave a soft sigh of frustration. "There are some jarls who are not true gentlemen, that is true. I do hope none sought to compromise you in such an ignoble manner. I promise you, my Lady Natasha, I pursue only those who wish to be pursued, not the tender spring buds that most mamas try to push out onto the marriage mart. I am the kind for sporting, for the hunt itself and not too much of the fripperies that follow."

"That's rather honest of you."

"My honor is sacrosanct, of that you can be certain. True, certain play is enjoyable," he added with a sly grin, knowing she would take his meaning. "But I would never let such pursuits get in the way of my true purpose."

"Which is why you and Thor are such good friends," Natasha said warmly. "He is an honorable man and surrounded by many honorable people."

"Well spoken and truly observed," Fandral agreed warmly.

Natasha was placed next to Fandral at the banquet table, across from Sif, who was seated between Thor and Volstagg. Hogunn was on Fandral's other side, and he earnestly spoke with several of the war ministers during the feast. Talk was mostly about the battles on Vanaheim and the forces that sought to take over the planet. None of their champions actually explained what the attempted takeover was for, but some of their technology had reminded Thor of the Chitauri during their invasion of Midgard. "I believe the same force may be trying to take over other realms," Thor told Odin and the war ministers. "This Other may be a fearsome foe, moving in shadows and secret places, hoping to destabilize the peace of the Nine Realms."

Loki hadn't ever liked talking about the Other, shuddering and behaving as if something horrible had happened before he had shown up on Midgard with the Chitauri. Natasha's mind was only too able to fill in the horrifying blanks he had left behind.

There was dancing and frivolities similar to a musicale after the general feasting, elaborately designed desserts on display. Fandral danced mostly with Natasha, which did keep most of the enterprising jarls away from her. Most were just as vapid as the noblewomen, but instead of fashion and husbands, they tended to talk about how virile they thought they were and how many sons they thought they should father. It was sickening, and none of them seemed to take the hint that she wasn't interested. Being alone on Asgard hadn't helped, either; to calm the frustration she had either gone through several kata or slicked oil along her fingers and masturbated. Normally that didn't bother her at all, but the image that came to mind when she slid her fingers along her clit was of Loki. She couldn't even tell if it was the masculine or feminine form, but imagining Loki's fingers between her legs or Loki's hand at her breast was enough to make her come with a groan. It didn't even help to defuse the tension, because she wanted _more_ than just a quick buzz along her nerve endings and she was irritated with herself for even thinking of Loki as anything meaningful. They had a deal, and she cared whether she lived or died. That had to be the extent of her involvement.

"I should thank you for keeping the single jarls away," Natasha told Fandral with a grin as they danced for the sixth dance that evening. Most of the single men finally seemed to take the hint that she wasn't available. "Though apparently I've kept you from your usual sport."

"Oh, it's a game that never tires," he told her with a charming smile. "If not tonight, then the next." He spun her around and then pulled her back in against his chest.

"Or you could play with me tonight," Natasha replied with a purr, lips curling into a smile. "It's the least I could do for your efforts at keeping the realms safe."

He laughed and dipped her slightly. "Your charms are quite lovely," he allowed with a courtier's smile. "But as a companion to Thor, I would not wish to give the wrong impression."

"I'm not looking for permanent, and I don't think you are, either."

"Most certainly not."

"Well, then. Two friends having a little fun, no strings attached."

"I'm not familiar with the phrase."

"It means that we would have fun," she said, her voice low and sultry, "and it would be just that. No promises for more, no need to repeat it if we don't wish to."

"Ah... Not an uncommon arrangement for me," Fandral replied, still smiling. "I just usually have that sort of agreement with lusty widows."

"I _am_ called Black Widow," Natasha pointed out.

Fandral laughed and nodded. "Indeed. And it would be against my nature to refuse a request to aid a friend. So it shall be. I will protect you from the dastardly claws of the marriage mart, and you will find eager sport for the evening."

Natasha smiled and let her fingers slide softly along the inside of his wrist, a silent promise for the evening ahead. "Oh, I do hope so."

She might have teased Fandral about Lady Gilla and some of the other matrons of society ogling him as they danced, but his attention to her did keep the jarls at bay. They slipped out of the ballroom separately, meeting in one of the grand hallways that Natasha could recognize. He led her toward the rooms he usually stayed in when visiting Thor, located in the area she knew was allocated to lesser jarls of the realm. It wasn't as large or sumptuously decorated as her suite was, but had a four poster bed with gauzy curtains, gilt details to the furniture and was full of furs and pillows piled in comfortable arrangements. It wasn't as flashy as she would have guessed, given his flirtatious behavior, but seemed more in keeping with his serious side.

"I like it," she told him with approval, running her fingers along the soft fabrics of the bed. "I think it suits you very well."

"How so?" he asked, curious as he unbuckled his ceremonial sword from his belt. "I would think that others would find the room rather plain."

"This is a room with purpose, with comfort in mind. You don't come here to do battle, Fandral," Natasha said, unrolling her sleeves. She grinned at his start of surprise at the sight of her hidden knives. "This is a place of peace, in a world where sometimes there isn't a lot of solace to be found. So I like it a lot."

He grinned. "You are full of surprises, Lady Natasha."

"Gives a little variety to life, doesn't it?"

Fandral watched her place her knives beside his sword. "What other surprises do you have for me, Natasha?" he asked, intrigued.

"Take off your clothes and see," she purred, lips curling into a seductive smirk. Oh, she was bound to have a fantastic time tonight. That should take the edge off of her rising tension from dealing with idiot nobles, as well as drive the thought of Loki out of her mind. True, she was only here because of Loki, but the trickster shouldn't consume her thoughts or be part of the fantasies she used when bringing herself off.

His movements were slow and languorous, a slow tease meant to amuse and arouse Natasha as she watched him. He started with the bright green overtunic, embroidered with elaborate runic and knotwork patterns in a multitude of colors. Natasha was surprised that he didn't simply toss it to the floor negligently, but put it down gently on a chair. The undertunic was fine linen trimmed with blue wool, which had provided the contrast in the cuffs of his sleeves and the neckline of his tunic. Beneath the undertunic was nothing but bare skin and firm muscles from years of training and fighting, and Natasha didn't bother to hide her interest as she skimmed her fingers lightly over his skin. Some bruises were evident along his ribs, likely where his armor had been hammered into his torso during the fighting, but the violent blooms of color only seemed to make it more interesting.

"I should kiss that and make it better," she offered, curling her lips into a smile she knew would set a man's blood on fire.

Fandral was no different, and he couldn't help but slide his fingers down the back of her neck as she bent her head to kiss the bruises. He reached the top of the stiff brocade that framed the neckline of her gown, then dipped his fingers beneath it, tracing the bumps of her spine. "Ah, quite gifted in the ways of healing, I see."

She palmed him through his trousers and smiled against his ribcage when he hissed sharply at the contact. "I told you I'd surprise you."

"Consider me quite pleasantly surprised, my lady," he said. "I really shouldn't think of you as passive, but you carry that air sometimes..."

"Oh, I can play that game if you like," she purred, loosening the ties on his trousers. He eagerly helped her unlace them and push them off of his hips. Natasha easily undid the buckles on his boots, and then held a hand up to balance him as he toed off the boots and kicked off the stockings and trousers. Kneeling, she looked up at him with a deceptively innocent look. Really, the lean lines of his muscled body were quite tempting. "Shall I?"

Before he could even reply, she took him into her mouth, her hands resting lightly on his thighs. Her eyes fell closed, and Fandral's hands rested lightly on the complicated network of braids, pins and jewels that Bera had twined into her hair. He made a soft sound of pleasure, almost a groan, and stayed in place as she worked his cock into an erect state. When she sat back with a satisfied smile on her face, he made a disappointed sound. "But—" he began, dazed.

Laughing, Natasha leaned forward again and nipped at his balls with her lips and teeth. "Oh, we can't have this over too soon, Fandral. Where's the fun in that?"

"I promise you, whatever you wish to happen will indeed happen. My stamina in the bedchamber is just as great as on the battlefield."

"Oh, I'll hold you to it," she said, looking up at him with a coquettish batting of her eyes. "Most men on Midgard can't rise to the occasion more than once." It made him laugh, which turned into a strangled groan when she took his cock into her mouth again.

"I am not... quite so feeble... as to let a lady— _ah!_ That is very nice," he stuttered, lightly running his fingers over the braids in her hair. She could tell he was restraining himself from simply fucking her mouth. Very thoughtful. She appreciated that.

Natasha ran her fingernails along the insides of his thighs and felt the tremors running through him. When she leaned back on her haunches again, Fandral looked dazed and close to release already. "Why don't you lie down?"

"But what of your pleasure, Natasha? It hardly seems sporting so far," he protested.

She grinned, genuinely pleased by that response. "Who said I was finished with you yet?"

Fandral chuckled and let her push him toward the bed. He sat on the edge, then leaned back, sighing contentedly when she pushed his thighs apart and knelt between them. "Most ladies here aren't quite so knowledgeable about what they desire, even the ones that know what they're doing. This is enlightening."

"In what way?" she asked, running her fingernails over his stomach.

"It's far more sporting," he told her with a grin. "Much more fun."

"I think so, too," Natasha replied with a playful grin before taking him into her mouth. She rolled her tongue along his length and cradled his balls in one hand. Her other hand moved restlessly over his lower abdomen or the tops of a thigh, making him tremble a bit beneath her mouth. He made little grunts and gasps, and she quickly figured out which combination of touches he liked the best. Fandral gave a deep groan when she sucked hard on his cock and rubbed his perineum at the same time, hips bucking slightly. Ah. There. A few more of those, and he barely managed to stammer out a warning before coming.

Natasha swallowed quickly, then eased back to her feet. "And I'm still dressed. What a shame," she said in a teasing lilt.

Chuckling breathlessly, Fandral pushed himself up to sitting. "An absolute travesty, my lady. I have been most remiss in my attentions. Do forgive me. Let me make it up to you."

Her eyes sparkled. "I was so hoping you would say that."

Fandral slid his fingers along the neckline of the elaborate gown, just enough of a teasing touch that her breath caught in anticipation. He easily unwound the criss-crossing fabric, lips hovering just a hair's width from her forehead. As he undid all of Bera's painstaking work with the silk and brocade, there was less and less weight on her body. "You are very skilled. Should the fighting not work out, you would make an excellent lady's maid."

"I learned out of necessity, of course," he replied with a rakish grin. "So few society ladies would bring body servants to a liaison, yet must appear as if they hadn't met with me."

It sounded almost lonely, but she knew better than to say so. Natasha instead traced the lines of his muscled body, then rubbed a thumb over his nipple. "It might have been more fun if you got me ready for the party than Bera."

"Ah, but if it was me, you might not have arrived at all."

"Not a bad thing," she murmured as he spun her around. He draped the gown over his clothing on the chair, and she smirked at him over her shoulder. The kirtle beneath the gown was a fine, sheer lawn, and she knew it didn't hide the curves of her body. "I'm sure you would have made it worth my while," she purred.

Approaching from behind her, Fandral rested his hands gently on her hips. He gathered the sheer fabric, lifting it up. The movement of fabric along her thighs was like a soft caress, and he lifted it high enough for one hand to slip beneath it. He traced his way along the top of her thigh, and let go of her opposite hip to cup a breast through the fabric. Dipping his head, he nipped at the top of her earlobe with his lips. "Oh, absolutely. How else to test your stamina against mine?"

Leaning back against him, she tilted her chin up to try to see his expression. "I happen to be one of those Midgardian women that can have multiple orgasms."

"Delightful." His fingers dipped between her legs, finding her already damp from arousal. Given that this was purely for her own benefit than in service of a mission, she had enjoyed sucking on his cock and hearing his lusty response. "And pray tell, what is the highest number of times that happened with one lover?"

"My record's at six or seven, I think." It would have been years ago with Yasha, who tried to take advantage of every stolen moment between missions the Red Room sent them on; it still hurt to think about him. More recently, Loki probably reached that number when he tried to leave her a quivering, shaking mess during his dominant sessions.

"Mmmm," Fandral purred, stroking her breast and sliding his fingers between her legs. "I should attempt eight, then. How else would you remember me fondly?"

"How could anyone _not_ remember you fondly?"

He laughed, then nipped at her earlobe as he dipped a finger inside of her. Natasha let her own hands run along his muscled thighs, her entire weight shifted back to rest on him. Parting her legs a bit to give him better access, Natasha let out a content sigh as he slid his finger further into her. "There are those who find my charms trying."

"I'm not one of them."

Sliding his fingers into her at a steady rhythm, Fandral stroked her breast in counterpoint and licked the shell of her ear. "Another of _your_ inherent charms, I find."

Natasha let her eyes close and reveled in the feel of him holding her and playing with her. Lifting one hand up behind her, she ran her fingers through his hair, mussing it a bit and arching into his touch at her breast. There was no need to speak as he nuzzled her neck and stroked her until her breath quickened. He seemed to sense that he could be a little rougher with her than some of the Asgardian ladies he was used to bedding, and his grip on her body tightened. Oh, yes. Natasha liked that, the sensation of being pinned in place, pleasure flooding through her. Clenching down on his finger, she managed to gasp "More," which led him to slide another finger into her and pump harder. Letting out a throaty moan of approval, Natasha grabbed his hip for balance with one hand and tightened her hold on his head. "So close," she whimpered before she came, pleasure sparking along her nerve endings.

The room tilted as Fandral spun her around and loosened the kirtle from her body. It fell in a whisper of fabric to the floor, and then he laid her down on the bed. Turnabout was fair play; now her legs were spread wide at the edge of the bed and he knelt down to suckle and lick at her. Natasha threw one of her legs over his shoulder and reached down to run her fingers through his soft hair as he worked at her, not letting her come down from the prior high. She definitely approved of this, and let her gasps and moans tell him so. After a moment she twisted beneath his mouth, and reached up to grasp one of her own breasts to fondle and pinch as he licked into her enthusiastically, hands spreading her wide. When she came again, he still didn't stop, this time sliding two fingers into her slicked passage. Fandral sucked on her clit, making her cry out and arch her back against the bed. He knew how to play, that was for certain.

He let her come down from the third orgasm, standing and licking his lips and fingers lasciviously as she looked on. "That's three."

"Keeping score?"

"Of course. I take all promises seriously."

She could taste herself on his lips and tongue when he pulled her up and kissed her. They managed to shimmy to the center of the bed with their mouths still fused together, his erect cock pressed against her thigh and her breasts rubbing deliciously against his chest. Natasha moaned in pleasure when he slid into her, thick and full and more than ready. "You can fuck me hard," she said, running her nails down his back. "It doesn't have to be soft or slow."

Fandral grinned, propping himself up on his elbows. "It'll be every which way if we can manage it. If you like."

"Oh, I definitely like," Natasha purred, pulling him down for another kiss.

He started slow and steady as he kissed her, hands sliding along her arms until he could tangle his fingers in hers. Natasha wrapped her legs around his waist, crossing them at the ankles to lock herself in place. Fandral's kiss was playful, tongue sliding in and out of her mouth in counterpoint to his cock filling her up. It had been _ages_ since she'd had this kind of lovemaking, a slow build until her blood sang and she wanted to flip her partner over and grind down until her orgasm came and took her over whole.

Natasha protested when he slid out of her far enough to make her unhook her ankles. He chuckled and nipped her nose. "If I stay like this, I'll finish far too soon." Letting go of one hand, he reached between their bodies to rub her clit. "I won't make it to eight otherwise."

"It doesn't have to be eight times, you know," Natasha gasped, tilting her hips a little so he had a better angle. "This has been pretty impressive so far."

"Not really," he said with a grin. "Not if you can still speak."

She laughed, which turned into a gasp of pleasure as he stoked her in earnest. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to his touch again. She bucked against his hand between her legs and pulled him down to kiss her. The kiss muffled her cries when she came, legs shifting restlessly as he continued to work on her. She gasped his name against his mouth, feeling him smile against her lips. He was content to keep going, trying to coax a fifth orgasm out of her. When he did, she lay limp beneath him, panting. Fandral licked his fingers clean and then repositioned her on her elbows and knees. She groaned in pleasure when he slid into her from behind. Natasha grasped the blankets in her fists and muffled her moans as he pounded into her.

"Oh, I'm too close," he groaned, hands tight on her hips. "I won't last long like this."

"Maybe, but I never promised to make _you_ come eight times," Natasha teased as she reached down to stroke her clit. Closing her eyes so it was easier to focus on the sensation, she tightened around Fandral's cock. He cried out in pleasure, hands almost painfully tight on her hips. His thrusts grew erratic, and she could feel his cock twitch as he came inside her.

"Not fair at all," he whined, though she could hear the laugh in his voice.

They collapsed onto his bed, and he pulled her on top of him. His seed was smeared between their bodies, and Fandral had to finger her as they kissed to bring her off again. Natasha lay there breathless afterward, and he moved to kiss her jaw and throat before taking a breast into his mouth. He licked and suckled one, smiling against her flesh when she grasped his shoulder or ran her fingers through his hair. Natasha gasped and called his name, twisting beneath him. She snaked a hand down his side, then shifted until she could grasp his cock again. As he worked her body, she stroked him as well. "Let's get you going again," she said, voice fracturing around a moan. "Think you can handle it?"

Fandral chuckled and lifted his head from her breast. "I'm a warrior of my word, Lady," he murmured, shifting his position over her. That let her shift her grip a little and changed the angle of his strokes. "I will indeed do my best."

They teased and stroked each other, until Natasha came again. Once he was erect, Fandral rose to his knees and lifted her hips up onto them. He gave her a raunchy grin as he lifted one of her legs to his shoulder and slid inside of her. Tired, they moved slowly, hands running over each others' bodies. It was a slow, sensuous slide in and out of her, until he couldn't help but start moving faster. Natasha fondled her own breasts, and urged him to go even faster and harder. She moaned a bit, a little tired and sore, but Fandral was determined to get her record beaten. Head bowed, he continued to thrust into her until she cried out. At that point he let go and didn't try to rein himself in. When he came himself, he sagged forward.

"That was eight, wasn't it?" he asked, breathless.

"Yeah, I think it was."

"Good. I'm not certain I could keep going for much longer." He disengaged as she laughed, and moved so that he could fall onto the bed beside her. "You know where your rooms are from here?" he asked, letting one hand fall to rest on her stomach.

"I could probably figure it out."

"Are you in a rush to leave?" he asked.

Natasha thought he sounded almost lonely, so she smiled and shook her head. "Too tired to leave, anyway," she murmured, turning and nipping his chin playfully. "Mind if I sleep over?"

Fandral's response was to help pull the covers out from beneath them. She snuggled into his side as he pulled them over their sticky bodies. There would be time to clean up and dress later.

***

The good thing about the palace being so large was that there was no obvious walk of shame to make in the morning. Natasha's quarters were closer to the area she thought of as reserved for royals and truly honored guests, but she could easily claim she was lost. Fandral had even altered the way the folds of her gown were pleated so that it looked like a similar yet different dress. Clever, thoughtful man. They had agreed that future liaisons would be welcome if it worked out, and Natasha couldn't help but tease him about the list of noblewomen she would have to compete with. He wasn't insulted at all, and was sure she could collect a similar list of nobles if that was the type of sport she preferred over the political. It was, but she didn't have that as an option as the Ambassador from Midgard.

Sif saw her from down a side hallway and hurried to catch up. She was in light armor, consisting of her usual chest piece, shoulder guards, bracers and shin guards over the special tunic and battle skirt she tended to favor. "Lady Natasha!"

Slowing so that Sif could catch up with her. "Good morning, Sif," Natasha said once Sif was closer. "Good to see you."

There was a start of surprise on Sif's features. "Why do you wander the halls so early? Surely your current accommodations are more than pleasing."

"Yes, it is. I enjoy the walks," Natasha said. "How about you? This isn't on the way to the warrior training grounds."

"I wished to converse with you," Sif declared. "Alone."

"Aren't we alone now?" Natasha found it a little odd that no servants were in the hallways, but they always seemed to appear when needed. Nobles tended to ignore them, as if they were no better than the tapestries on the walls or furniture in the room; she was sure that there were quite a few tales they could tell if they wanted to.

Frowning, Sif stopped walking. Natasha did the same, looking at her expectantly. "I have no patience for polite or courtly words. I will simply say it: any design you have upon Fandral should not include plans of permanence."

Natasha blinked, then processed what Sif said. "You're warning me away from Fandral."

"He has dalliances, not permanent alliances. There would be no union with him if you pursued such an option."

"I'm not," she replied in a straightforward manner.

"But you monopolized his time last night," Sif pressed. "Others whispered that you perhaps had designs to enter his House."

"That was just a lot of mutually enjoyable fun." She gave Sif a genuine smile. "Trust me, we both understood what we were doing last night."

Now it was Sif's turn to blink in surprise. "Oh. I did not mean to malign your character—"

"Sif, he's your friend. Of course you'd look after him." She tugged on Sif's arm gently so that they could start walking down the hall again. "But he can look after himself, you know. He's a grown man, and a skilled one at that."

Sif flushed in embarrassment. "Well. I suppose. I hoped to avoid hurts on all sides."

"No hurts to be had, I promise," Natasha assured her. "Where are your quarters in the palace?"

"Not far, but not so fine as yours, of course."

"Why of course?" she asked, curious.

"You are the Ambassador to our realm from Midgard," Sif pointed out. "Think about it. Who would be considered the Ambassador from our realm to yours?"

It clicked immediately. "Thor. He's royalty, so I have to be treated as if I'm royalty as well."

"Precisely. Otherwise it would be an insult to Midgard, and we are all friends to Midgard here."

"I don't know... Some of those balls I went to, there are a number of jarls that don't care for the idea of the place."

"Our worlds last met a very long time ago, before the wars between realms. What I have seen of your world is far advanced of the stories told of the last visits."

Considering Asgardians likely visited the Vikings before the Dark Ages, Natasha wasn't terribly surprised. "Most jarls aren't too thrilled with the idea of women warriors either." She eyed Sif's armor. "Were you intending to go practice?"

"My plans can correct and align with yours, if there are duties you must attend to."

Natasha chuckled. "Today is one of the days I usually head to the warrior's training area. Why don't you let me change, and we can spar? I'm not exactly at my most rested right now, but it'll still be fun to see what you can do."

Sif lit up in delight, and she nodded. Natasha was sure she worked only with Thor or the Warriors Three, so having an additional combatant to spar against was likely a treat. Honestly, she was looking forward to it herself. They could likely fight without having to hold back or worry about a bruised ego.

She changed quickly, wincing only slightly at the stretched out muscles. Apparently, she had gotten a little too soft while on Asgard in spite of her practice. That would have to be corrected now that Sif was around.

***  
***


	7. Setting Change In Motion

Bera was very politely scandalized by Sif and Natasha sparring in the warriors' training ground, whether it was hand to hand or with weapons. She hated the sight of cuts and bruises on Natasha, though she very artfully wound fabrics over the worst of them. "Is it always so terribly violent to do this?" she asked, concern evident. Biting her lip nervously, Bera looked downward, her blonde bangs obscuring her eyes. "I told the others that it wasn't always."

"It isn't. When we were working on grabs and holds, you weren't bruised at all," Natasha told her, adjusting the strap on her wrist sheath. "Sif and I are going all out on purpose."

"But why?" she asked, looking up in confusion. "You're not at war. None of the whispers are about you, and no one's threatened you."

Natasha looked from the buckle to Bera's frightened expression. "What whispers?"

"There's talk," Bera admitted, looking down again. "You wouldn't know of it, you've mostly been in the palace or the closer areas of Asgard. But there's talk in the outer reaches, where the karls are, and the others." Of course, slaves didn't actually exist. None of the nobility would ever want to acknowledge that.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Natasha patted the space beside her. "Might as well tell me what's going on. You're my eyes and ears in the palace, you know."

She visibly brightened; perhaps she had been afraid that Natasha would blame her for the talk between servants. Natasha listened carefully as Bera told of the rising prices for foodstuffs over the past few years. The broken Bifrost had made interdimensional travel difficult, so trade had suffered. Even with it repaired, essentially nothing had changed for them. The jarls still had their parties and musicales, but the karls had to do without any of the cheaper fineries that came through trade. The best food was snapped up for parties and balls, leaving rougher quality behind for them. None of them knew any people from Vanaheim or Midgard, so battles fought in those realms seemed so incredibly distant and unimportant. They cared more for their day to day battles against cold and hunger; the outer reaches of Asgard were colder than the heart of the realm, as it was closer to the vacuum of space. Some of the thralls had actually frozen to death when unable to find shelter.

"Now there's talk that karls will be forced to serve the warriors. Or act as warriors without any of their proper training. We know that's a death sentence. A farmer can't be a warrior. A plow isn't a sword," Bera cried, wringing her hands in distress.

"Your family," Natasha asked gently, covering Bera's hands in one of hers. "Are they affected?"

She nodded, looking miserable. "I'm protected because I'm here with you. And I'm a woman. No one expects women to fight, you understand." Natasha nodded and made a soft soothing noise, subtly urging her to continue. "But I've five brothers. My wages get sent home to help feed them, they're all younger. Papa's dead and Mama's worked so hard in the fields for House Ashbrok, and it's hard to feed growing boys. But three might be old enough to train and send off world now, and I know they'll die. Farm hands aren't fighters!"

There was nothing that Natasha could do other than pull Bera in for a tight hug. It was enough to get the girl to start sobbing. "You've been worried about this for so long, and I never knew..."

"I mustn't trouble you..." Bera protested, trying to pull away.

Natasha wouldn't let her go. "Bera. You're not just a body servant to me, you have to know that," she began patiently. "So maybe, I can see what I can do about this."

"But what could you do? I hear tell that the ministers are so pleased with this idea to increase their ranks of warriors, and even the Crown Prince thought it a good plan."

"Any jarls not too pleased with the idea?"

"Well, there's Lord Falki, but he's not on any war councils. He plays at being an important jarl, but no one pays him any heed." Bera stifled a nervous giggle and wiped at her eyes. "Even his wife doesn't, if you believe certain talk amongst the karls."

Grinning at Bera, Natasha leaned her head in a little conspiratorially. "Why? What's that talk?"

Glad to share the gossip as a distraction, Bera dropped her voice to a whisper even though there was no one else around to hear. "She's his third wife. The others died in accidents, no heirs to his house. Lady Gilla hasn't borne him any children yet, and it's said she avoids him when she goes into phase so that there would never be children of that union. She does her duty to the letter and no more."

"Hm... He might not be well received in the war councils," Natasha began with a slight smile, "but maybe I can find out who else thinks his way. Let's see if we can get the karls to stay home, shall we?" she asked. Bera brightened and nodded, pleased with the idea that her brothers might be able to stay safe.

Natasha had been meaning to meet Lady Gilla anyway. This was as good a time as any to start up a new acquaintance.

***

Loki slipped out of the homeless shelter and found herself wandering along the streets of Manhattan. She didn't know where she was going, and had never bothered to look at any maps of the area. What need had she to do so? She never planned to leave the tower, and before the attack she hadn't thought any Midgardian place was worthy of her notice. Somehow the entire summer had slipped away without her noticing. Natasha had been gone the entire summer. How had that happened? Why didn't she return?

She was approaching an alleyway and heard the high, desperate cry of a woman and the bass undertone of men speaking. Then laughing, and it sounded rather cruel. Without consciously thinking about it, she conjured a knife in hand, shaped rather like one of her favored ones if far more flimsy in material, and approached the entrance to the alley. Three men were there, all with shaved heads and blue do-rags, dressed in identical leather jackets, jeans and sneakers. One was holding onto a petite Hispanic woman while another was menacing her with a knife. The third had her purse and was rifling through it, muttering under his breath.

"Let her go," Loki found herself saying, not knowing what she intended to do. But the rage burned within her, and here finally was an outlet for it. She couldn't scream or shout or do damage in the tower, not without potentially harming Natasha's friends and bringing down punishment on herself. But _this..._ This would be acceptable. This she could do. Magic and anger fueled her, and she could tear these fools apart easily.

It didn't even matter what they said. The scorn was the same as she had always heard while learning to fight on Asgard. _You're not good enough,_ the jarls had taunted. _Look at you. Weak and puny, not fit to wield a sword. Does your cock even work?_

There was blood and screaming and the distant knowledge that the frightened woman managed to get away. That didn't matter to Loki, though, because the three men were threatening to kill her now, brandishing the knife and a gun that she hadn't known about. Bullets were simple to dodge and deflect, and she laughed at the sight of it. She could fight and kill and prove she was worthy, prove she was strong. Odin and Thor and Thanos and the Other wouldn't doubt him ever again, and he could live on another day. He was worthy of attention, worthy of life, wasn't the fuckup he thought he was. _She_ was. _She._

Out of nowhere was Steve Rogers, knocking heads together to end the fight. All right, perhaps Loki hadn't been very sporting about it, taunting the assholes like they had any hope at all in besting her. But it was _fun_ and affirming, for a moment making her feel _alive._

"Good thing there's a tracker," he said idly. Loki looked at him blankly, dimly aware she should make her knife disappear. She was disheveled and had spatters of blood on her clothes, but none of it was hers. "Can't stay out of trouble, can you?" he sighed.

"They attacked a woman. She got away and they were most displeased."

"Ah. Well. Hell's Kitchen isn't a good neighborhood."

"I can do _this,"_ Loki said, not sure why she had to make him understand. "Serving the filthy and hungry... I can't do that."

"Because you still think you're a god?" he asked, voice flat.

Had she angered him somehow? Loki let the manifestation of the blade go and ground the heel of her hand into her temple, trying to find the words to explain it. "I was to fight. To rule. I was meant to lead a realm, and this is not part of that. I cannot do this."

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "You think you don't know how? Or you just won't?"

"I'm not compassionate as you are!" she finally blurted in frustration. "I am not kind, I am not capable of such things."

"So don't you think it's time you learned?"

"Why? To what end?"

Steve pressed his lips together, visibly unhappy. "You're not happy as you are, Loki. You can choose to be different, you know."

 _Choose wisely._ It was all Natasha or Frigga kept saying, but there was no choice. There was no way to escape this fate he had been given.

"I am not good," she began. The strain made Loki's voice crack. "I cannot be that. It is not in my nature, not what I am capable of. I am a monster, you know this. You harbor an awful creature in your midst, Captain."

"You aren't good because it's _work._ Evil is easy. Evil takes no effort. All evil needs is to have good step aside."

"It's a platitude," Loki snapped, irritated.

"It's truth," Steve replied, voice firm and pitiless. It reminded Loki of Natasha, and she felt the loss of her keenly. "I've seen this before when I was a little guy, when I joined the army, when I fought in the war, when I fought against you. It's not black and white, Loki. You're not only evil or only good. This is a choice you make. Even inaction is a choice." There was the briefest of pauses before he grasped her arm. Loki didn't feel threatened, however; the touch felt grounding, as if she was spiraling out of control without him. She had thought only Natasha could do that for her. "You can be more than what you think you are."

"I cannot," Loki said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't understand. I enjoy inflicting pain. I enjoy seeing others bleed. _Ruling_ pleases me, but sometimes I even enjoy the pain of my own debasement. I _am_ a monster, there is no escaping that."

"Even monsters have a choice."

"Captain, I am what they made me to be. I am the thing they fear at night, the cautionary tale they tell in whispers. I am the creature in the darkness. I was meant to be cast out and executed, to be forgotten until they need a convenient adversary." Her lips pulled back into a grimace of a smile. "They won't mourn me. They don't care for me. There is no one who does."

"Natasha does. For all that you've tried to ruin her, she does."

Loki's expression darkened and her gut twisted in pain. She had indeed harmed Natasha most grievously, and she didn't know how she could ever repay that debt. "She could not. She does not. _She should not."_

"But she does, because that's who she is. Because that's her choice to make. Don't you think you should be worthy of that choice?"

Her eyes slid shut and she found it hard to breathe. Everything hurt, everything seemed to slip sideways and stop making sense. "I don't know how to be. I cannot be."

"I'm trying to show you a way."

"Why?" Loki demanded, eyes snapping open. "Why do you try so hard when the others do not?"

"You remind me of someone I knew once. Thought he was a fuckup, couldn't do anything right." He paused, and Loki almost asked who this person had been. "Sometimes all you need is a shove in the right direction, and then you find your way." Steve let go of Loki's arm and then gave her a shove out of the alleyway. "Consider this your shove."

***

Lady Gilla was only too happy to accept Natasha's request for a luncheon. Bera had suggested a few other ladies to invite as well, under the guise of expanding Natasha's social circle. As much as she chafed from having to cancel one of her planned sparring exercises with Sif, she knew that for a long game this was important. Sif accepted a rescheduled appointment but didn't want to take part in the social games. "I haven't the interest or temperament for such things," Sif had replied honestly, her displeasure for the idea evident.

"Think of it as a different kind of battle," Natasha had suggested. She certainly thought of it that way sometimes. "Instead of a sword, words are weapons."

Sif had looked at her evenly. "I say what I mean and mean what I say. Those ladies do not, and do not appreciate truth."

"No, they don't," Natasha had agreed with a sigh. "But it would've been nice to have an ally in there. Now I'll have to face the harpies alone."

That made Sif laugh. "I don't know what harpies are, Natasha, but I assure you that they only have words and sour looks. They are no Valkyries, and those are the ones to truly fear. Should you see one, it means you have fallen in battle."

"You would think that they'd respect you, then. Aren't you practically a Valkyrie yourself?"

"They don't see honor in battle." Sif paused slightly. "You still blend in with them, but you carry the _ergi_ as well as I do."

Natasha blinked. "I thought that was a bad term to call a man."

"It is especially bad for them, yes," Sif agreed. "It's hard to explain so you understand. I think the easiest way to explain it for you is that there are strict roles. Cross them and you are _ergi._ I am, and it is not a good term to have."

"So it's as much an insult to you as it is for Loki, let's say," Natasha said.

Sif nodded. "Connotation is different, but yes. For him to carry _ergi_ means he is a base coward, devoid of honor, more like a woman with lack of prowess. For me to carry it, I am little more than an animal interested in only satisfying unnatural lustful desire."

"So why haven't I gotten the term yet?" she asked, eyebrow raised. "I fight with weapons, I don't believe in the hierarchy as it stands, and I cross those strict roles all the time." There was no need to get into specifics, but it was highly likely that Asgardians wouldn't look too fondly on many of the things she had done in her line of work.

"You are from Midgard. And I suppose, you play their game far better than I ever could."

"Well, there's that, I suppose." Natasha clasped Sif's arm in a friendly gesture. _"I_ don't think there's anything wrong with you. I think you have far more honor than the majority of the ladies at court. It's different if they choose the life they lead, but most of them seem only too happy to belittle others that don't have any choice. That isn't honorable at all."

Sif grinned at her, pleased. "Which is why we are comrades and friends. I may not be a Valkyrie, but I gladly would share the title with you. Go, spar with the weak willed social monstrosities. Then seek me out, and we shall truly spar."

"And I'll tell you all the nasty bits of gossip," Natasha promised, which made her laugh. Sif likely didn't have too many opportunities for friendship, but this wasn't a calculated act on Natasha's part. She did genuinely like the Asgardian woman, and found that their worldviews were very similar.

The luncheon was held in one of the outer courtyards of the palace, and wound up being a much larger event than Natasha had initially wanted. But there was no way to invite only Lady Gilla without many of the higher ranking jarls' wives, so a full complement of the court had to be present. She did sit next to Lady Gilla, who seemed pleased by the favor shown her. Natasha managed to wrangle an invitation to her estate for the following week, though Gilla was nearly beside herself at the thought that Natasha would want to spend any time with her. "My husband is not nearly so important as that of the others."

"I've spent a lot of time with them, yes," Natasha said, aware that she shouldn't say terrible things about the matrons of court, no matter if she felt they were warranted. "I've seen you a few times, and we never did get the chance to talk. A luncheon might be a good place to start, right?"

Days flew past quickly, and Natasha tried to stay aware of others' perceptions of her at social events. Fandral wasn't always there to deflect unwanted attention from jarls, but she did manage to avoid the worst of the offensive ones. Lady Gilla and Lord Falki weren't invited to all of those balls, so she had to stay closer to Lady Beru and Lady Drifa than she liked. Still, their husbands observed all of the courtly manners, and it was easier to ignore their political blather if it worked its way into conversations. They were so certain they knew everything, and didn't want to hear any opposition to their ideas.

The estate that Lord Falki and Lady Gilla lived on was far smaller than that of the High Chamberlain or any of the main counselors and ministers to Odin. To Natasha's surprise, no one else had been invited to the luncheon, and Falki wasn't present. They walked through the gardens on the estate, which Gilla took care of personally rather than relegating to gardeners. There were some house servants, though they all were out of sight and left Gilla alone. The only one that might have shown any concern was the house steward, but he also bowed and deferred to her wishes to walk through the gardens. "I hope you don't think this so forward of me," Gilla said as they walked through the neatly trimmed flowering bushes. "I've never met anyone not from Asgard before, and there was little enough opportunity to ask about that before."

"True. We aren't often at the same events. There was the welcoming party when I first arrived and when Thor, Sif and the Warriors Three returned from Vanaheim."

"Oh, yes, I remember," Gilla said, a little hasty with her words. Natasha noted a flush in her cheeks and the nervous way that she held herself. A crush, then.

"I'm sorry if you feel I've monopolized Fandral's time," Natasha said with a playful smile. "We're just friends, I assure you. If you've been interested, I mean."

Gilla flushed in embarrassment and shook her head. "No, no. It's not that at all. I wasn't staring at him, you misunderstand me."

Natasha stopped walking and tilted her head to the side in curiosity. "So if not staring at him..."

The flush deepened as Natasha's leading statement became clear. "Oh! Just curiosity, I assure you, Lady Ambassador! With our station as it is, there are so few opportunities to meet the high court, and while you're Midgardian, you fit in so well..."

Resuming her walk, Natasha eyed Gilla critically from the corner of her eyes, gauging her reaction. "Is it that you hope to advance your husband's career into the war council?"

"Oh, he isn't nearly as clever as he thinks he is. Don't let his dinner persona fool you, Lady Ambassador." Her lips snapped shut abruptly, a crease of fear and displeasure on her face. It set off alarm bells in Natasha's head, and she reached out to touch Gilla's arm gently. "Oh, my lady, I didn't mean anything by it. I never do..."

"Does he hurt you?" Natasha asked softly, hiding the thread of menace that normally rose up at the thought of battered wives. Gilla flinched and looked away, turning as if she meant to show the rose bushes. "I was told his other wives died of accidents."

"Those weren't accidents."

Natasha stopped walking at the sound of Gilla's angry hiss. Her hand was still on Gilla's arm, so she inadvertently yanked on it when Gilla kept walking. The hiss turned to one of pain, and Natasha rushed forward in concern. Despite Gilla's protests, Natasha undid the fanciful knots keeping the sleeve of her gown in place so that she could see Gilla's arm for herself. The flare of bruises, dark purples over fading yellows, made her temper spike. "He did this, didn't he?" she asked quietly, looking up at Gilla through her lashes.

"You're the Ambassador to Midgard," Gilla said quietly, gently removing her arm from Natasha's grip. "I am the wife of a lesser jarl, daughter of an even more lesser jarl. I know my place."

"What does he say that is?"

Gilla looked at her and tried to pull the sleeve back up toward the outer gown, but Natasha had been thorough in taking apart the knots and ties. "I am his wife."

"And what does that mean on Asgard?"

"Our union unites our houses, solidifies the properties he could expect to manage, generates children and honor." Gilla sighed when the sleeve kept falling down her arm. "Please, I must cover these."

"He doesn't like seeing his handiwork?" Natasha asked, a bit more tartly than she meant to.

"Falki thinks of them as marks of ownership." There was a thread of steel in her voice, which Natasha was glad to hear. "No, Konrad will be upset. But he can do nothing."

"Who's Konrad? Family?"

Gilla lifted her chin a notch. "Our steward."

Natasha thought of the tall, slender man who had eyes only for Gilla. "Your lover," she guessed.

She turned away and looked to the roses they were standing beside. "We've been very careful. Falki hasn't guessed, and he is rather dull. He wouldn't be able to." She turned back to Natasha, a measure of pleading in her eyes. "If you don't tell him..."

Gently, Natasha lifted the sleeve to cover Gilla's arm. The woman's lips parted as Natasha's fingers skimmed over the sensitive skin under her arm. "Why would I do that? I don't condone a man beating on a woman just because he thinks he can."

"I am his property according to the marriage laws. As are any children of the union."

"Which is why you have been very careful not to have any with him, right?" Natasha guessed, starting to lace the sleeve back into the outer robe. Gilla nodded, a pleading expression on her face with that admission. "He would strike any child. I've seen that kind of man before. It's how they feel important, when they know they really aren't."

"Yes. That's Falki exactly," Gilla murmured softly.

Natasha finished the complicated knots that Gilla's servants had used, then slid her fingers down the inside of her arm, until she could link her fingers through Gilla's. "I'm sorry."

"You can't change it, Lady Ambassador," Gilla said, shaking her head and starting to pull away.

"No, I can't," Natasha replied, not allowing her to pull away. Gilla was startled, halfway spinning into her, and Natasha made sure she had a gentle smile on her face. "I'm still sorry. I'm sorry it hurts, that there's no one you can turn to when he gets like that, that no one can protect you. If I could, I'd stop him."

Gilla flashed her a sad smile, the kind Natasha had seen far too many times on Earth before. "It's all right. I know what I'm dealing with."

She kept hold of Gilla and cupped her face with her free hand. "But that doesn't make it any easier." Gilla was still, eyes wide and lips parted. There was a measure of fright there, but there also seemed to be interest.

"Ah," Gilla whispered, as if trying to figure out what she wanted to say.

Taking a chance, Natasha let go of Gilla's hand and slid her fingers along her waist. Gilla didn't back up or away. "You weren't staring at Fandral," Natasha said softly, eyelids dropping slightly to give a smoldering look. "He wasn't the one you wanted."

"Um. Am-Ambassador," Gilla stammered nervously.

"Natasha," she corrected with a gentle smile. "You needn't be so formal, Gilla."

"This is... Um, I don't... This is different."

"Somehow, I don't think it's all that uncommon," Natasha told her with a smile. "Just unspoken. It's not as if the men really need to know what's going on, right?"

"Wh-what?" Gilla asked, startled.

"Never tried anything before?" Natasha asked, letting her hand slide down the small of Gilla's back. She could tell that Gilla _wanted,_ but was probably too concerned with appearances to pursue that wanting. When Gilla shook her head, eyes wide. "Do you want to?"

"It's unnatural," Gilla protested weakly.

"No, just different," Natasha corrected gently. "After all, men here wouldn't want to be left out of the fun, would they?"

That startled laughter out of her, and Natasha laughed with her. "I've done that on Midgard."

"But... Did you and Fandral...?"

"I like both," Natasha said simply, shrugging. "It's not a big deal."

"Here it is."

"So should we pretend we're on Midgard?" she asked, lips quirking into an amused smile.

Gilla blinked rapidly, lips parting again. Oh, yes, she _wanted._ She licked her lips a little nervously, eyes shifting to look around the garden. They were still alone. "Yes."

Natasha closed the gap between them and kissed her gently, nothing to frighten her. Gilla was already an adulteress, and if an affair with the house steward was discovered, she would be in trouble. The steward was a karl, and the class difference would likely be a problem if it was discovered. But it likely also meant that Gilla was better informed as to actual goings on than most of the other jarls on Asgard.

When Gilla leaned into the kiss, arms coming to rest around Natasha, she deepened the kiss and slid her tongue into the noblewoman's mouth. Gilla gasped, and Natasha took the opportunity to really kiss her then. She held Gilla close, stroking her through her dress, without words promising more if she wanted it.

The kiss broke slowly, and Gilla seemed dazed. "Oh. _Oh."_

"You like that," Natasha observed, managing not to smirk.

"Oh, yes. It's rather like kissing Konrad," Gilla admitted shyly.

Not breaking eye contact, Natasha let her hand fall from Gilla's face to the rise of her breast, stroking her through the layers of her gown. Gilla gasped, pupils blown wide in desire. She held onto Natasha's torso as if afraid she would disappear if she let go. Gently, Natasha slipped her hand inside the bodice of Gilla's gown and brushed her nipple. Gasping, Gilla arched into Natasha's touch, _want_ clearly written on her face. Keeping her gaze locked to Gilla's wide blue eyes, Natasha dipped her head down as she lifted the breast out of the bodice a bit. She ran her tongue over the areola lazily, sensually, and Gilla moaned softly, fingers spastically clutching at Natasha's back. "Please," Gilla whispered, voice breaking.

Natasha swirled her tongue around the nipple, the hand at Gilla's back sliding lower to cup her ass and keep her steady. "How far do you want me to go, Gilla?" she asked, the promise of more in her sultry tone.

"H-How far?" Gilla echoed weakly. "How far can you go?" she asked.

It had been such a long time since Natasha had been that innocent. Most of her innocence had been stolen from her, but this one thing hadn't been. Once upon a time, Natasha had been just as confused and hadn't understood this either. Another blonde, another time.

"I can go as far as you want," Natasha murmured before closing her lips around the breast she had uncovered. Gilla moaned, arching toward her mouth, and Natasha held her as she nearly swooned against her. Gilla whimpered, clutching Natasha's back, pleading for more. She sucked on Gilla's breast as she pulled her skirts up. Natasha threaded her way through the layered fabric until she felt bare thigh, then traced her way up to the juncture of Gilla's thighs. The noblewoman gasped and shifted her stance slightly, allowing Natasha to trace her folds and slide a finger inside, testing her. Gilla shivered in her arms, holding onto her tightly, whimpering and pleading with her in nonsensical pants.

Natasha licked and suckled Gilla's breast as her fingers slid into her opening, thumb rubbing at her clit rhythmically. Gilla was relatively quiet, no doubt from necessity, which made this that much easier to do without servants knowing. It took some time for her to grow slick enough for Natasha to really thrust into her, and Gilla had to bite her lip and throw her head back when that happened. Natasha sucked on her breast a little harder, making her gasp, and she started fucking Gilla with her fingers in earnest. Gilla nearly buckled at that, back arched mouth open to gasp for air as she clung to Natasha desperately.

Gilla clenched down on Natasha's two fingers and made a soft keening noise as she came, nearly collapsing. Natasha held onto her until she could get her feet under her again, her cheek pressed against Gilla's bare chest. She could hear the galloping heartbeat there, and only withdrew her fingers when Gilla seemed able to stand. Deliberately and provocatively, she licked her fingers clean and smirked at Gilla's dazed expression. "That's only part of what can happen, you know," Natasha said conversationally.

"There's more?" Gilla blurted, a flush in her cheeks.

"I think you'd be surprised."

"But why would you want to do that with me?" Gilla asked, disbelief in her tone.

Natasha clasped her by the back of her neck and pulled her in for a filthy kiss. "Because you look at me because of me, not because of what title I have. Because you're interested. Because you're beautiful. Take your pick, they're all true." She kissed Gilla again, then tucked her back into her bodice, making sure to rub the peaked nipple through the layers of fabric to make her gasp and moan again. Her lips twisted into a pleased smile, though Gilla seemed too dazed to notice. This must have been what Yelena felt like all those years ago. "And you respond so wonderfully, I can't wait to see what else I can do with you."

"Oh. _Oh._ It didn't seem... Women don't have..." Gilla gulped, unable to say the word out of embarrassment. "Konrad loves me," Gilla whispered, almost guilty. "I've just met you."

"You love Konrad, don't you?" Natasha asked gently, still stimulating her breast through the gown. When the other woman nodded, Natasha merely smiled. "It's wonderful that you were able to find each other in spite of Falki." She leaned in and nipped at Gilla's lip playfully. "I'm not trying to break the two of you up, Gilla. I really just wanted to get to know you, maybe have you as a friend. And if we get a chance to play a little, it'll be that much better. If it makes you uncomfortable to do this, we'll pretend it never happened and just talk about dresses or whatever else will make you happy."

"No," Gilla whimpered, pulling Natasha close. "I don't want to pretend that this never happened. I just... I don't know what this is."

"Think of it as finding out who you are and what you want," Natasha suggested, moving to nip at her jawline playfully. "And in the meantime, why don't you tell me about Konrad and your household staff? I wouldn't want to do or say the wrong thing around them." She moved to lick Gilla's earlobe, making the noblewoman whimper a little. "Tell me about what it's like to live here, what the karls are like, what they want. Surely you must know."

"They trust me," Gilla admitted, sliding her arms around Natasha. "There's been so many hardships for them, I try to make it better here." She gasped when Natasha grasped her ass with both hands to pull their bodies flush together. "Oh, there's so much to say..."

"You can tell me," Natasha crooned, lips next to Gilla's ear. "I'm a very good listener, and I will never say a word to anyone else. Is there a place where it's private?"

"Private?" Gilla echoed dumbly.

"Where no one will interrupt? Not even one of your body servants?" Natasha asked, lips curling into a smile against her cheek. "We wouldn't want to spoil the fun," she purred, letting her hips sway against Gilla's.

She caught the underlying meaning immediately. "Yes. Yes, there is. And Falki is away for the next few days. The only one that might look for me is Konrad."

Natasha licked Gilla's earlobe, making her moan a little. "Excellent. Let's begin, shall we?"

***  
***


	8. Homesick

Bera watched anxiously as Natasha dressed in leggings, a short and flouncy skirt rather like Sif wore, something like a leotard and strapped a chest plate that Maeginbiorn had crafted for her out of enchanted metal. The twin swords were still in the repair process; the reforging had been easy, but the spellcrafting was not. There were conditions that had to be met in order to have optimal results on the enchanting, so they would have to sit for another month or so. A matching dagger was also awaiting his ministrations, as well as a dozen throwing knives, a boot stiletto, and a dozen hairpins with enameled flower ends. Maeginbiorn had been positively gleeful about the extra weapons when Natasha suggested them, and volunteered to craft the armor so that she could battle Sif, Thor, Fandral or Volstagg without fear of excessive damage. "I may hear things from Bernhard," Maeginbiorn admitted with a grin. "You defy his expectations on every level. The Lady Sif is a fierce warrior, short tempered with court politics and exceedingly kind to the karls and lesser jarls. You are far more agile in court and secretive than she. Most of the higher jarls still seek your company."

Natasha had grinned at him, feeling a measure of satisfaction in his words. She and Gilla were friendly at court, as well as some of the other noblewomen that Gilla, Beru and Drifa had introduced her to. She trusted Beru about as far as she could throw her, Drifa not at all. Their friends were idiots and easy to lead around. Gilla was delightfully innocent and charming, and would blush at even the faintest reminder of their time in bed together. Natasha hadn't bothered to suggest bedding her and Konrad at the same time; it seemed to be shocking enough for the poor woman that Natasha could have her panting and screaming without a cock inside her. She knew Fandral would welcome the idea, but that was almost too easy. Natasha had flirted with him at a few other gatherings, mostly when some of the older noblemen started to get pushy and ignore her blunt refusals to entertain a marriage suit. He found other widows' beds as often as he found hers, and it was generally a good way to relieve tension without thinking of Loki or wondering what she was up to on Earth.

Natasha refused to feel guilty about remaining on Asgard for so long; the one time Frigga had talked to her after that disastrous meeting in her garden, the queen had admitted that the flow of time between realms was not in sync. Months could pass in one realm yet be only days in the other, and at other points it could spin in the opposite direction.

"I try my best to be a good Ambassador," Natasha had told Maeginbiorn. "There's still a lot left to learn about Asgard, I'm sure."

The armorer had laughed and waved her off. "Ah, you're a clever one. As if our Crown Prince would ever ally himself with fools."

"I don't like how rough the fighting can get," Bera said anxiously, wringing her hands together. "I know you say it's only sport, but it still looks fierce, and you could be seriously hurt. I _worry,"_ Bera said, almost whining. "If anything should happen to you, it would pain me."

"Would you be punished by the Queen?" Natasha asked in concern, looking up from the buckle on the chest plate.

Shaking her head, Bera sighed. "I don't think of you as my lady, but as a friend, too." She looked almost miserable, and Natasha stopped fiddling with the armor to grasp hold of her hand tightly in silent support. "I don't like to see blood or pain."

"It's all right," Natasha promised her. "This isn't going to be like that. I'm not going anywhere, okay? And you know that if any of those jarls try to do anything to me, I'll be able to take them down, slit their throats and walk away without looking back."

"But to have to do that…"

"I did it on Midgard, too. It's how I got so good in the first place." Natasha leaned over and touched her forehead to Bera's. "I'm not always a good person, Bera. Sometimes I have to do bad things to make sure the really bad ones out there are stopped. But someone has to do it, and if I know how to, it might as well be me." She smiled at the girl's frightened expression. "How else can I protect people like you?"

Bera took a deep, shaky breath. "I suppose I don't understand that kind of world, Natasha. It's a scary place to live."

"Yes, it is. But when it's what you know, it's a little less scary."

It wasn't exactly comforting, but it was true. Bera accompanied her to the training grounds, where the others were already waiting. Bernhard's trainees were present to watch the fighting so that they could discuss technique afterward. Natasha positively bounced on her toes at the thought of using knives and swords in combat, and teasingly challenged Sif to see which of them could gain more points against their opponents. Sif gladly accepted, which made Thor and Fandral grin in appreciation. Volstagg frowned and looked at the motley group. "Why is this a good thing? The Lady Natasha is mortal, and we will have to be careful fighting her."

"I say, just for that, my friend," Thor began, picking up a trainee's sword to hand to Volstagg, "you should battle Lady Natasha first. Then you will see why we all smile."

Volstagg huffed impatiently and all twenty trainees looked instantly alert. He gave them a friendly wave and turned to take the sword from Thor. "I don't see why," he began, but his voice petered out when he turned toward Natasha.

She had her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and had the training gear that Sif insisted that she wear during their sparring sessions. She already had a sword in hand and was in one of her default sparring stances. Natasha's grin was chilling. "Whenever you're ready, Volstagg."

He blinked in surprise, then frowned at her. "The sword is hardly my chosen weapon."

"Then once I've beaten you with the sword, you can pick up your battle axe. Fair enough?"

"I have the feeling you might fight like Sif."

Natasha still had her killer's smile on her face. "Let's see, shall we?"

It was a rough and tumble fight, neither wanting to give quarter. Volstagg wielded the sword as if it was a saber, betraying his usual style with the battle axe. Natasha was lighter on her feet, tumbling out of the way and bringing up the sword as if she had a sixth sense when it came to a battle. Volstagg scored her armor twice, and she had at least a dozen small nicks in his. It was a dance, one that she could move through without thinking of anything but that moment. Her sword swung out in graceful arcs, and she used her legs to kick out dirt at him or somersault out of the way of a heavy blow. That made him growl that it wasn't fair of her, but she laughed in response to his outrage.

"Poor Volstagg," she teased. "Can't fight a woman?"

He flushed a little in embarrassment and Sif hooted with laughter along with Thor and Fandral. "I suppose I asked for that one."

"You fight with Sif _all the time,"_ Natasha replied, darting in lightly and scoring the tip of her sword along his breastplate before pirouetting away. "Yes, you asked for it."

"I didn't think you were good!" he protested.

"I propose a feast in Natasha's honor when she wins!" Sif called out, grinning widely.

"Hardly sporting!" Volstagg said, trying to swing the sword again. "Hey!" he cried in dismay when Natasha ducked out of the way of his downward swing, twisted and swung her own sword upward. That knocked the sword right out of his hands, and it went flying toward the trainees, who scattered to avoid being hit by live steel.

"Want your axe?" Natasha asked sweetly.

He gave her a rueful grin. "Nay, Lady Natasha. I yield."

They all sat down with watered down mead as Bernhard went over specifics about the fight with his trainees. Bera anxiously looked over the warriors and sat next to Natasha when it was Sif's turn against Fandral. "I'm ever so glad you won," she admitted. "I thought he would cut you."

"Oh, it wasn't a serious fight," Natasha chided gently. "Just keeping up our training."

"This is the life they want my brothers to lead," Bera murmured unhappily, almost to herself.

"There are some lesser jarls I'm working on," Natasha replied softly. "But it's slow going."

"That you're working on it at all warms me," Bera said with a smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Natasha said with a smile, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Hopefully, you'll see your family at the next feast day."

Bera beamed at her; the upcoming feast days would be important, and a lot of household staff were allowed to travel to visit distant family members. "I would like that," she murmured as the cheering around them began. Sif had bested Fandral, who bowed and gave her a rakish grin.

Next to spar were Thor and Volstagg, which Bera seemed to have an easier time watching. She cooed over Thor, which Natasha found amusing. All in all, being mistaken for royalty was a nice and relaxing change from some of the missions she had participated in before coming to Asgard. Still, after a while she would want to return to it. Natasha was not a woman that enjoyed sitting idle for too long.

***

Clint was in the armory, crafting arrows. There was something soothing about doing it himself the old fashioned way. Tony created plenty of trick arrows, and SHIELD R&D liked developing his crazy ideas into functioning arrows. But there was something about shaping steel and stone arrowheads that he still enjoyed. He didn't even look up when Loki entered the armory, but continued grinding the edges of his arrowheads, ignoring her. "Stark decided you've been alone in here long enough," she declared loudly. He looked up with a lofted eyebrow. "He states you've missed breakfast and lunch."

"And he cares why?" Clint asked, sarcasm heavy in his tone. "He's never bothered to figure out my schedule before."

Loki frowned at him. "Is there a schedule? It seemed to be random training, sparring and video game sessions."

"Yeah. And?"

"You miss Natasha," Loki declared.

Looking at her sourly, Clint put down his whetstone. "Don't you have shit to craft?" he asked. "Or homeless people to feed? That seems to be the purpose you've taken on."

"It occupies my time," Loki replied, making sure to appear unperturbed. She hadn't been thrilled with Tony's request, but she hadn't been able to come up with a good enough excuse to refuse it. Perhaps this was guilt regarding taking over his mind with the Tesseract, but Loki really had few choices at the time. He had been weakened by trave, the prior tortures and mental acrobatics to get away from Thanos and the Other. "There is little enough for me to do otherwise."

"Why bother sticking around anyway? You never figured out your purpose in life, did you?" Clint looked at her glare and laughed. "Guess not."

"I care for Natasha, and she asked me to wait for her."

"And you do what she says."

"In this instance."

"What about before? When you were a giant bag of dicks and wanted to discredit her?"

"Do you still hold it against me?"

"Someone should."

Loki frowned. "Such is not my intent any longer."

"Why was it then?" he pressed.

"It is between she and I," Loki replied haughtily.

"Pretty public humiliation planned for a private matter," Clint remarked, starting to strike an arrowhead against his whetstone again. "Must've been pretty bad."

"Yes, it was."

Clint frowned when she didn't elaborate. "Do you ever regret _anything_ you do?"

"Should that occur, I would not speak of it."

"Huh. Didn't think so."

Loki frowned at Clint again. "So why ask me?"

"I wanted to see what you'd say." He looked at Loki critically. "You know she's been sticking her neck out for you, protecting you."

"From all of you?" Loki asked snidely.

"From yourself."

Her frown turned into a scowl, but she didn't deny it. She was her own worst enemy at times, after all. "And what do you think? That saying such things hurts me?"

"I remember you were taking orders," Clint replied matter-of-factly. "I remember those little chats through the haze. Do you wish she was here because of that? You _want_ to be given orders to follow? Was your speech about freedom just bullshit?"

Loki froze, still glaring at Clint. Natasha wouldn't have said anything about their deal, not even to Clint. When Loki was male, he had worked so hard to maintain his image, to be unflappable and inviolate. As a woman, she expended less effort at that. Perhaps Clint was only guessing at the truth, but it was uncomfortably close.

"Was it?" she asked quietly. "To be under rule is freedom from choice, from the lie of free will. There is no free will, not really."

"You don't believe that."

"Is it not better when you were controlled? When you didn't have to make any decisions? Was it not safer then?" Loki asked, voice soft and lulling. She certainly felt that way when Natasha dominated her, when Loki fell into the deeper parts of subspace. That was a safe place, peaceful, no rage to burn through her.

"No, it wasn't," Clint told her coldly. "Using someone without their consent is _not_ better." He fingered an arrowhead in an almost threatening manner. "You don't get a free pass, Loki. You chose to attack, and you just whine and complain when your fucked up plans fail. Suck it up and deal with the real world."

"I have been," Loki said coldly.

"Bullshit," Clint replied. "You've been hiding here. Did that witchy bitch hurt you that badly that you'd rather hide with enemies than go out and deal with it?"

Rage and shame burned through Loki, choking her. He was right, damn him. She had no answer, none, no lies to give to save face. The best she could do was deflect, try to hide behind a screen of words. "You purport to be her friend."

"I am. She's been better to you than you deserve. Tash has a kinder heart than she gives herself credit for, especially if she sacrificed herself for you." Clint's voice was cold and pitiless, making Loki ache for Natasha. "You've said you care for her, but that means doing shit worthy of her effort. It would mean honoring the choices she makes. You have jack shit to that end. You're just biding your time, waiting for something to happen. You're reactive, not active. I'd tell you to grow a spine, but I don't think that'll help. Being active means taking responsibility. I don't think you know how to do that."

Loki bared her teeth in anger at him. "You'd never say such things if Natasha was here."

"I wouldn't have to. She'd tell you herself."

He was right, she would have.

"And she'd tell you to grow a pair, own up to your own bullshit and _do something."_

Yes, she would say that, too.

Clint suddenly grinned at Loki's scowl at collected all of his arrowheads. "So, what're you going to do, Loki?"

That was rather the trouble, wasn't it? She didn't know.

***

Falki was a smarmy bastard, as were several of his friends. They jockeyed for positions of power in various councils, not understanding why they were usually barred from them. At various social events, several seemed to think that making lewd comments toward Natasha would make them seem clever. Natasha thought of the knives under her dress and the pins in her hair, the wire laced into her sleeve that she could flick out and use as a garrote. Egill, Lady Beru's son, was the epitome of tall, blond and burly, and took it upon himself to squire Natasha about after hearing comments that Falki and his friends made at one of the latest musicales. He was utterly proper and utterly boring, but it kept some of the talk at bay.

Natasha found Gilla with the other ladies, and she could tell that something was wrong with her immediately. It was too easy to send Egill off in search of appropriate drinks for the ladies, sitting down beside Gilla. "What is it?" she asked quietly, when the others were preoccupied talking about Lady Drifa's middle daughter.

"It's nothing," Gilla murmured, ducking her head down to avoid looking her in the eye. She startled a bit when Natasha touched her wrist, fingertips curling around slightly to touch the sensitive skin over her pulse. "Really. It's nothing."

"I can tell you're upset," Natasha murmured, concern evident. "I care about what happens to my friends, Gilla. Please tell me."

Gilla looked up, still surprised as ever that Natasha would call her a friend. Natasha felt some kind of affection for her, in a protective sort of way. Gilla wasn't a friend the way Clint or Steve were her friends, but she did like her and didn't want her hurt. "Konrad," Gilla whispered, turning her arm slightly so that Natasha's fingers brushed along the inside of her arm. "He said he would do something rash if Falki—" she cut herself off abruptly when Egill returned promptly with the drinks, and smiled at him delicately. "You are far too kind, milord," she murmured, ducking her head down in her submissive gesture.

Egill beamed and started discussing the history behind the music piece being performed for society's benefit. It was relatively recent, drafted after Odin rose from the Odinsleep and defeated the Usurper to the throne, Loki. "He still sows his seeds of unrest in the realm," Egill declared, grinning at the ladies' startled gasps. "But we protect all of you from his foul trickery."

"Oh? What trickery has he performed?" Natasha asked, sounding innocent.

"Why, stirring up the karls," Egill replied, his expression earnest. "They seek to endanger food supply routes, limit the goods getting into the heart of the realm. It's a petty ploy, of course, and our lives will not be harmed by such infantile tactics."

Natasha noticed the way that Gilla had tensed as Egill spoke, and she knew that Gilla was close to the karls on her estate as well as in the surrounding areas. It was possibly something to do with Konrad, who as steward of her estate would be in prime position to funnel their goods to the karls. Her protective instincts kicked in hard with her and Bera, and she wanted to throw an arm around her and punch Egill in the face to get him to shut up.

Instead, she gave him a gracious smile. "Of course. Perhaps you could see to Mardoll?" she asked, voice dropping to a slight whisper as she shifted her eyes toward the young noblewoman in question. Mardoll had brown hair with gold highlights, and wore dark blue. It made her seem washed out and drab, so she was easily forgotten on the dance floor. She was one of the less vapid girls that matchmaking mamas kept throwing in Natasha's direction, hoping the discarded high jarls would move on to a proper Asgardian girl. "I think that talk worries her, and showing her how well protected she is would be greatly esteemed."

Egill brightened and moved to Mardoll's side. Her friends smiled encouragingly at her, and the two soon left. Mardoll's friends did as well, leaving Natasha and Gilla largely alone; the other two ladies were deep in conversation about Drifa's upcoming ball and what gown they should wear that would still fit the renewal theme without having to have one made.

"That was rather artful," Gilla commented.

Natasha slid her fingers along the inside of Gilla's arm in a familiar and sensual manner, making her gasp and shift slightly in her seat. "Artful would be finding an enclosure here and taking advantage of how low your neckline dips," she murmured, lips quirking into a knowing smile. "But I don't think I want to push our luck that far."

"No, best we don't."

"Is Konrad angry with you for our time together?"

"No, not at all," she murmured, shaking her head. "He was most intrigued when I told him about it, but doesn't think me awful for wanting to discover what this is."

"Because he still sees you as passive?" She nodded and Natasha managed to quietly chuckle. "If only he knew, hm?"

Gilla flushed scarlet and ducked her head low. "Natasha," she whispered urgently, embarrassed.

"I'm teasing, Gilla," she said with a smile. "If Konrad's not angry about that... Did Falki hurt you again?" Her tone was deliberately light, but Natasha thought about getting poison and lacing her hairpins with it. Falki would need to die a slow and agonizing death.

She let out a slow breath. "No. I got away, hid in one of the guest rooms. He didn't know where to find me. It's his business proposals that have Konrad so angry. Falki's taking more of the crops and profits than before. Our household isn't feeling any difference from the trade losses. But the others out there, the karls not on our estate..."

"And it's like that everywhere," Natasha guessed.

Gilla nodded miserably, still looking at her lap. "I'm just as guilty, I suppose. I'm not brave like you, Natasha. I let him do it, didn't even try to put up a token argument. Because then I'd be comfortable, no bruises or pain or fear. They don't have that, and they'll starve if it goes on for too long." She looked up, tears unshed in her eyes. "Konrad's family, others that I see but I don't know, I know they're suffering. And I can't do a thing about it."

"It's been going on a long time," Natasha said gently, moving her fingers in slow circles along the inside of Gilla's arm. "It's not your fault."

"No, but I feel like it is. That I'd be out there myself but for an accident of birth. How am I any better than the ones in the fields?"

"You're not, just as I'm not any better," Natasha murmured. "But we have more power than we think we do. We just have to use it and beat those cruel jarls at their own game." As if she didn't have enough reason to want to hurt Falki...

"I've been redistributing goods from our kitchens, but there's only so much I can do that way."

"It's a start. Get your friends to do the same, and I'll see what whispers I can drop here and there, too." Natasha flashed Gilla a bright smile that was meant to be encouraging, even if she didn't think much would come of it. "You know how these ladies are. Just tell them those things aren't fashionable anyway, and the karls are welcome to it. That worked with Drifa and Inga." Not to mention Bera had been only too happy to add whispers along other higher jarl staff members about the hoarded goods spoiling. The "spoiled" goods quickly were sent away to karls and the jarls never noticed a thing. It wasn't a big move, but it was _something._

She caught sight of the smiling, self absorbed faces of Odin and Frigga sitting with the High Chancellor, Lady Beru, the council members and their wives. Natasha knew that if she or Thor pushed, they would be seated in the same circle. But Thor was nowhere to be seen at this musicale, and was likely spending time with Sif, Fandral and Volstagg. He had the right idea of it, but Odin would never accept that.

Pushing aside her disgust with the ruling aristocracy, Natasha smiled at Gilla and went through the motions of acceptable social behavior. It grated terribly, and she knew a break would be necessary in order to remain objective. If not, her pins and knives would get actual use, not just sparring time or imagined use on the vapid excuses for rulers on Asgard.

During a lull in the festivities, Natasha noticed that Frigga had separated herself from the men and was mingling with a few of the higher jarls' wives. This was as good a time as any to discuss a quick trip back to Earth, so Natasha made her way to Frigga's side. The Queen was somewhat surprised to see her approaching of her own volition, but hid it rather well. Lady Beru and Lady Inga were there, fawning over the choice of music and location to host the musicale, which made Natasha grit her teeth a little as she smiled.

The Queen smiled back. Natasha was able to seamlessly enter the flow of conversation; Beru, Inga and Drifa spoke about nothing else but the renewal theme and the various events planned for it. They didn't have anything new to add, so she could steer the conversation in whatever direction she needed it to go. "I am thinking of a brief sojourn back on Midgard," she told Frigga in a lull in the conversation.

Frigga looked at her in something like alarm. Interesting. "Did something happen?"

"No, of course not. But I would need to periodically check in, make sure that the needs of those on Midgard are still met." Her smile was purely social, and wouldn't have fooled anyone that knew her well. None of these women did, and they merely smiled politely at her. "And from what I hear, there might be possibilities for trade agreements between our realms. With the Bifrost functional, it should help bring goods back and forth. I can confer to see what we could offer your realm."

"More likely Midgard has much to learn from us," Drifa sniffed.

Natasha remained silent, her eyes on Frigga. The Queen seemed somewhat tense, but didn't say anything immediately. "It's a good idea, Natasha. Whenever you feel ready, you can travel to Midgard. I'll let Heimdall know to expect you."

It was easy enough to pack her things and make sure that Bera would be settled and continue to maintain her quarters in Natasha's absence. "Think of it as a place to practice your moves in private," she had told the handmaiden cheerfully. Gilla had sighed but understood that the potential trade agreements between the realms would help the karls if foodstuffs were more plentiful, so she had bid Natasha a fond farewell. Maeginbiorn had her weapons ready, and encouraged her to wear them with pride. "Only five of your months to craft these," he told her with a proud puff of his chest. "Such a rapid speed, and certainly because I like you so much."

Had it really been almost six months living in Asgard? Time had no meaning there, not the way it did on Midgard.

The Observatory was as imposing and golden as Natasha remembered it. Heimdall greeted her with a polite smile that she returned easily. "Ambassador Romanoff," he said, which she preferred over "Lady Natasha" any day. "How may I help you?"

"I'd like to return to Midgard. To Avengers Tower, if you could direct me there."

He nodded solemnly and took hold of his sword. "I can do this."

"Before I go," Natasha murmured, holding up a hand. "I have a question. Loki mentioned that he was banished from Asgard. What were the actual terms of that banishment?"

"Loki Odinson was condemned to death for his crimes against Asgard, Jotunheim, and Midgard, including treason against the King. Should he return, the order for his execution would be carried out." Heimdall's eerie gold eyes took in Natasha's expression. "You suspected as much before you asked me this."

"He'd said the ways to enter were barred to him."

"That they are."

"What about Loki Friggasdottir?"

Heimdall paused. "I have not kept my eye on the lost prince as I should have. But to answer you, Loki Friggasdottir is not the one that would be executed."

Natasha flashed Heimdall a beautiful, wide smile. "Thank you, Heimdall. Should I just call for you the way Frigga does? Or is there a different way to ask to return?"

He paused, then took one of the short daggers from his waist and gave it to her hilt first. "Hold this to attract my attention, then call for me. I would not naturally listen to the call of mortals, even one respected and requested as you."

She accepted the dagger and held it tightly. "Thank you, Heimdall. I won't abuse the privilege."

"I would not offer it if I thought you would."

The world seemed to shimmer around her, and then Natasha was being sucked into a vortex and through it. Eventually, the world resolved around her, and she was on the terrace of Tony Stark's penthouse apartment on top of Avengers Tower.

Home again, and very much the wiser.

***

"No one mistreated you," Natasha said to Loki, somehow making it almost sound like a question.

"No," Loki agreed with a disgruntled sigh. "But they _could have._ I have given them no cause to care for me." Not that she gave Natasha cause, either, but there _had to be_ something there. Natasha wouldn't save and protect her otherwise, and even her friends recognized her emotional attachment.

Natasha was utterly becoming in Asgardian garb. Loki hadn't ever pictured her in flowing dresses before, as it would limit her combat skills too much, but she was elegant and beautiful, every inch a queen. According to readings she had done in her absence, Romanoff was the English transliteration of the last royal family of Russia. It was fitting that she would carry the same name as royalty and appear as graceful. Her fiery red hair was elegantly braided back from her face, the rest of her long hair hanging in sleek curls. Seed pearls and opals were woven into her hair, making the braids look like a coronet. Jeweled hair pins were stuck into the mass of curls and braids, and Loki was certain that Natasha had those accents simply for potential weapons to use rather than additional ornamentation.

She reached out and pulled Loki closer. "Are you mad that I didn't see you first?" she asked, her eyebrow lifted in query.

It had been too much to hope for such a thing, and Loki expected her to visit Clint and then Steve before seeking out her company. There had to be a way to tie herself to Natasha securely, to be sure it was more than just pity that bound them. Loki had no way to categorize the bond between them, the intangible thing that she had no control over. It was a long term goal of hers to have Natasha stay with her, willingly bind herself to Loki for eternity. There would be no fear of her death then. But Natasha was too strong willed for easy trickery or sleight of hand, and in the meantime Loki felt lost without her. It was quite the conundrum.

"I came back for you," Natasha said after a moment. "Loki Friggasdottir is not barred from Asgard's gates. She could walk into the city unscathed as my companion."

Loki scarcely dared to breathe, and she stared at Natasha with wide eyes. "But..."

"I checked with Heimdall first." Only then did Loki notice the gold dagger at her waist, one she recognized from Heimdall's personal collection. "Do you want to see Asgard and Frigga again?"

_Yes._ No. _Yes._

Natasha's eyes were kind and she touched Loki's lips gently with her fingertips. "When you're ready, let me know. I'll be back in a little bit, let you think."

"I don't need to think," Loki rasped, her chest tight with a torrent of emotion. "Yes."

"Yes, what?" Natasha prodded. Loki almost wanted to rage at her, let her magic turn into blistering heat or a torrent of wind to knock her over.

But instead, she shut her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. Asgard. She still thought of that place as home, deep in the empty, gaping pit of her soul, and its loss had been unbearably painful to bear. "Yes," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Take me home."

The End


End file.
